


love never wanted me (but i took it anyway)

by punkpete



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (internalized but also external), Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Bottom Pete, But also, Depression, Fluff, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of conversion therapy, Pete Wentz Is Sad, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Side Ryden - Freeform, Smut, Song fic, Teenage Drama, West Side Story, brendon and patrick are frenemies because i said so, but nothing super graphic i promise, gabe is just, i apologize in advance for heavy topics, i guess this could be considered a, side frerard, technically i can tag this as, the holy trinity, they will be tagged as i go with warnings at the beginning of each chapter, this is the theatre au, well he's gabe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14418102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpete/pseuds/punkpete
Summary: Pete Wentz has already made a name for himself, even though he’s only been in town since summer started. Patrick has heard the rumors, but he isn’t sure what he believes. He wants to find out for himself.Or the Theatre AU no one asked for where Pete doesn't let anyone too close to him until Patrick comes along. Including but not limited to: dancing, singing, awkward Patrick, and Brendon being the drama queen that he is. Oh, also Pete being super depressing but charming at the same time. It's totally plausible.





	1. know how much i want to show you you're the only one, like a bed of roses there's a dozen reasons in this gun

Patrick is walking towards the entrance to the school with Gabe and Gerard flanking him. Ryan trails ahead of them, walking backwards as he talks. It’s just like any other day, until it isn’t.

 

Pete Wentz has already made a name for himself, even though he’s only been in town since summer started. Patrick has heard the rumors, but he isn’t sure what he believes. He wants to find out for himself. Gabe stops walking and pulls Patrick back against his chest by the shoulders. Goddamn giant, thinking he can manhandle Patrick just because he’s short.

 

“Dude. That’s Pete Wentz, you know what they say about him, right?” Gabe says, seemingly excited by the prospect of another bad boy in town. As bad as a theatre kid who wears a lot of neon could possibly be.

 

Pete looks dangerous, especially compared to Gabe. He’s decked out in all black, a hoodie underneath a leather jacket and his hands tucked into his pockets. His hair is falling in his eyes, artfully messy like he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s got eyeliner ringed around his eyes and it’s all smudged to hell. He’s surrounded by a few boys that look just like him, covered in tattoos and bad decisions.

 

“Doesn’t matter if I say yes, you’re gonna tell me anyways, aren’t you?” Patrick sighs, put upon. No one really knows the kid. It seems unfair to pass judgement on things he’s supposedly done without hearing his side of things.

 

“The word is he moved here from Jersey. His parents put him in a boot camp because his behavior was so bad. When that didn’t work they moved him to Chicago. I always see girls fawning all over him. You think he swings both ways?” Gabe asks, looking down at Patrick like he has all the answers.

 

“How the fuck would I know? If you’re so interested, ask him.” Patrick scoffs. He shoves Gabe off him and starts walking towards the courtyard, where the steps to the entrance are.

 

“You think he’d go for me? He’s kind of got a resting bitch face but he’s so mysterious and like... _pretty._ Straight boys don’t wear eyeliner, do they?” Gabe asks, speaking to Gerard now since Patrick isn’t interested in gossiping. He tunes out the rest of their conversation and catches up with Ryan.

 

“Have you heard anything about who’s getting the lead in the musical?” Patrick asks, trying to sound nonchalant like his happiness in the near future is not riding on this.

 

“All I know is it’s between you and Brendon.” Ryan says, monotone as ever.

 

“Wow, that’s so helpful, thanks.” Patrick huffs. “I don’t know how your boyfriend can stand you talking like that all the time. Sounds like a real blow to the ego he’s got.” Patrick admits that was a little mean, but he’s upset. He isn’t the type to brag by any means, but he deserves the lead. He’s worked fucking hard for it.

 

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a robot. See?” Ryan retorts, giving Patrick a cheesy grin. It looks so out of place on Ryan’s  face it kind of freaks him out, all stretched out and warped.

 

They come to a halt at the foot of the stairs, and Patrick looks up to make eye contact with Pete. He knew he was standing there, saw him coming from a mile away, but he didn’t expect this feeling to wash over him. He looks at Pete and he seems... _lonely._

 

Maybe Patrick has a complex, or some unfound curiosity, but he wants to get to know Pete. He wants to know if the rumors are true.

 

Pete doesn’t react beyond a smirk gracing his face, but his friends loom menacingly behind him. Patrick smiles, trying to act like he isn’t put off by the bravado.

 

“Hi. Um, you’re Pete, right? I’m Patrick. It’s nice to meet you.” Ryan looks at him with wide, startled eyes. Patrick sticks out his hand for Pete to shake, but aborts the motion halfway through and scratches at the back of his neck nervously instead. Too formal. He doesn’t want Pete to call him a geeky theatre nerd like everyone else. Patrick ducks his head and flicks his eyes up, rocking back on the heels of his feet.

 

He can’t figure out why he cares so much about what this boy thinks, but he does.

 

“That’s me. What’s it to you?” Pete asks, jerking his chin up defiantly. Gerard and Gabe catch up to them, coming to a halt right on their heels. For once, Gabe stays silent.

 

“Nothing, I just- you’re really-” Patrick stutters, a flush coloring his cheeks. He’s totally embarrassing himself in front of the hot new guy. He’s such a fool. Social interaction has never been his thing.

 

“I’m really _what?_ ” Pete taunts, biting his lip. Patrick fumbles, tongue tied and his eyes too focused on Pete’s mouth. Patrick distantly hears Pete’s friends laughing at him through the ringing in his ears. Pete’s really…. _Stunning. Interesting. Different. Wild. Dangerous. Pretty._

 

“Gorgeous.” Patrick blurts, and immediately regrets it when Pete raises his eyebrows at him incredulously. One of his friends is bent over, hands on his knees, full body laughing at Patrick’s idiocy unfolding before him. There’s a flash of something behind Pete’s eyes, a little chink in his armor that lets a peek of real and honest _shock_ shine through. But as quickly as it comes, it vanishes, steel doors almost visibly slamming shut behind his whiskey colored irises.  

 

He’s saved by the bell ringing for first period, and before he can fully comprehend what’s happening, it’s over. Pete winks at him and then turns on his heel, strutting down the hall with his friends on his tail.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Gabe laughs, slinging an arm around Patrick’s shoulders and walking him towards English.

 

“I have no idea. I think my brain just shut down.” Patrick groans.

 

“He’s really not that hot,” Gerard says, clearly unimpressed. “His friend was way cuter.”

 

“The one with the scorpion on his neck right??” Ryan asks, his eyes bright and wide and his mouth stretching into a grin. Patrick huffs and rolls his eyes, tuning the rest of the conversation out as they all make their way to class. He’s having trouble remembering why he’s friends with these people.

 

xxx

 

Pete is sitting at a table by himself at lunch. His posse is, curiously, nowhere in sight, and Patrick cocks his head in interest. He’s got his hood over his head and the same pissed off expression as always, so Patrick makes a split second decision to bypass the table with his friends and sit himself down next to the storm cloud dressed as a teenage boy.

 

Pete stiffens, but doesn’t look up from the tattered notebook he’s writing in.

 

“Hey. What are you writing?” Patrick inquires, trying to keep his tone light and friendly. His mother raised him with manners, damn it.

Pete turns to look at him, prepared to lash out and grit his teeth. Instead, when he sees Patrick’s earnest expression and bubbly smile his shoulders fall and his eyes soften a tiny degree.

 

“I don’t know what it is, really. Lyrics. Poems. An unending stream of consciousness.” Pete says, eyes flicking over to Patrick’s face curiously, voice cautious but eyes like molten honey. Patrick feels a little hypnotized, sitting this close to him. He thinks he might be making a breakthrough.

 

“Do you like music?” Patrick asks, unable to hide the sheer joy in his voice. He can talk music all day. He hopes it doesn’t scare Pete off.

 

Pete laughs, and a tiny smile quirks his lips up. Patrick is holding his breath, caught off guard by the light shining in Pete’s eyes. He must’ve expected Patrick to pry.

 

“I love it.” Pete replies, and Patrick does something stupid. He feels wired, energy buzzing through his veins, excitement and electricity colliding until he can’t seem to control himself. He reaches out and grabs one of Pete’s hands in his, and immediately regrets it.

 

The easy grin falls off Pete’s face, and then he’s pulling back like he’s been burned. His face is closed off now, his walls up and his cards pulled close to his chest. Somehow, Patrick has already managed to fuck this up.

 

“Don’t touch me.” Pete hisses, and then he’s out of his seat, gone with a flourish. He’s left his lunch on the table. Patrick stares at it blankly for a while, trying to calm his racing thoughts with a frown that feels permanently etched on his face.

 

Note to self: Respect Pete Wentz’s personal space.

 

xxx

 

Patrick doesn’t dare approach Pete in the following week. He keeps his distance, observing him from afar. A gaggle of girls crowds around him, and the way he’s holding himself is full of fake confidence. The look on his face is more aloof and disinterested than anything else. But the girls never seem to notice.

 

He lets them flirt with him, touch him, lean in close till he reeks of their cheap perfume. Patrick doesn’t know what the dark feeling is bubbling in his stomach when he watches all of this happen, but he doesn’t like it.

 

It’s a Friday afternoon, and Patrick stayed after school for the musical casting announcement meeting. He’s already down on his luck, with the lead going to Brendon _fucking_ Urie of all people. It’s pouring rain outside, which makes his mood even more foul.

 

Gerard and Ryan caught a ride home with Gabe, but Patrick elected to walk home to calm down his fitful rage. Granted, this was before he looked outside. Now he’s pretty sure he’s going to look like a drowned rat.

 

Patrick can drive, he’s even allowed to use his parent’s car. But he rarely takes it to school since Gabe picks him up in the mornings. Suddenly he’s wishing that wasn’t the case.

 

Before Patrick even steps out into the torrential downpour, he sees a figure standing in the middle of the parking lot. He squints, trying to make out who it is. He can see the long black hair hanging in his face. There’s no mistaking it. That’s Pete.

 

What the fuck is Pete Wentz doing spinning around in a thunderstorm?

 

Patrick tries not to overthink it before he runs out into the rain, pulling his hood over his head like the water isn’t going to soak through to the bone.

 

“What the hell are you doing out here? You’re gonna catch pneumonia!” Patrick shouts over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement and the thunder rolling in.

 

“Patrick!” Pete yells back, the look in his eyes wild, his smile manic. Patrick takes in the drops of water dripping off the tip of his nose, sliding down his neck and beading under his shirt. He’s frozen, shivering in the rain and staring at the necklace of thorns around Pete’s neck.

 

Patrick shakes his head, trying to focus on what he came out here for. He needs to get home, but he doesn’t want to leave Pete here by himself. Especially if he doesn’t have a ride either.

 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Patrick bellows, wiping his wet hair out of his eyes and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 

Pete laughs, drowned out by the rumbling sky and illuminated in a strike of lightning that crackles through the air. Pete shakes his head, and then he’s running across the parking lot to the bike rack.

 

Patrick watches, dumbfounded, as Pete unlocks his bike and climbs onto the slippery seat. He stands, starting to pedal and cruise around Patrick in circles.

 

“Hop on!” Pete yells, grinning up at him like he’s the fucking Joker or something. Patrick isn’t sure what he did to deserve this, but he’s had worse days. Despite the fact he’s stuck in a downpour, he’s pretty sure he’s staring directly into the sun.

 

Patrick doesn’t think twice about it. He’s cold, wet, and shivering uncontrollably. He needs to get home and have a hot shower. Then he needs a fucking nap. He’s earned it.

 

He plants his feet on the bars of the back wheel, and carefully puts his hands on Pete’s shoulders to keep his balance and hold on.

 

“This is kind of dangerous, isn’t it?” Patrick shouts into the increasingly heavy downpour, eyes shut and breath hot against the back of Pete’s neck.

 

Water is starting to trickle down the back of his shirt but he can feel the heat radiating off of Pete’s body like a furnace.

 

“That’s what makes it fun, Rick!” Pete tosses a grin back at him, and then they’re off. Patrick can feel his heart pounding in his chest, in time with the rhythm of the rain as he gives Pete directions.

 

Patrick is reluctant to let go once they reach his house. He makes his hands unclench from the tight grip he had on Pete’s shoulders and immediately misses his warmth and glow, a shiver rolling through his torso instead.

 

He hops off the bike, ignoring the confusing flash of disappointment, and tries to invite him inside as a thank you. _It doesn’t matter why, right?_ Patrick thinks to himself.

 

Pete tilts his head, considering. The rain is starting to let up now, barely more than a drizzle.

 

“Rain check?” Pete says, wagging his eyebrows and letting out a laugh that sounds like the bray of a donkey. Patrick is helplessly endeared by this. “Next time.” Pete promises, his voice more solemn.

 

Patrick waves him goodbye, and then he’s running up the steps to his front door. He turns back and sees Pete still standing in his driveway, watching him. Patrick’s face flushes, and then Pete’s gone with another wink and a hand gesture urging Patrick inside.

 

Patrick closes the door and leans against it, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. The universe works in weird ways. He really hopes Pete will talk to him on Monday.

 

He briefly wonders why Pete was in higher spirits today. Why he was dancing in the rain like his life is a movie. Why he let Patrick touch him without even flinching this time. Why he does anything is a mystery, really.

 

He kicks his converse off and strips down to his boxers. His wet clothes make a wet squelching noise as they hit the floor in a pile.  He walks the rest of the distance to his bed and flops head first onto the mattress, his limbs flopping over the edge. If he screams into his pillow, nobody has to know.


	2. hair back, collar up, jet black, so cool

Pete keeps his distance the following week, but he shoots him a smile and a wave every time they make eye contact in the halls. Patrick considers it progress. Gabe can’t seem to shut the fuck up about this development.

 

“He’s _totally_ into you, Pat!” Gabe squeals, slapping Patrick on the back in excitement. Patrick flinches, gritting his teeth and trying to fight the blush he can feel under his skin.

 

“Don’t call me that.” Patrick grunts.

 

“Whatever.” Gabe rolls his eyes, and then he’s skipping ahead of Patrick into the auditorium. They have their first rehearsal for the musical this afternoon, and Patrick is feeling conflicted about it. He’s excited to perform, to be a part of something, like always. He’s just not that keen on doing it with Brendon. Also known as the scrawny kid who stole his leading role.

 

Patrick isn’t usually one to like the spotlight, but this is the one thing he knows he’s _good_ at. This year it’s a production of West Side Story, which Patrick has no problem with. He just wishes he were playing Tony instead of Maria. Here’s hoping he doesn’t have to wear a terrible wig in an all male musical.

 

The drama club consists of a lot of gay boys, essentially. There’s nothing wrong with that, obviously. It’s just a little out of the ordinary that there are no girls.

 

But in the grand scheme of things, that makes their drama teacher happy. He says it’s a common occurrence in Shakespeare plays for boys to play female leads, and vice versa. It makes them unique, or something. Patrick usually tunes him out unless he’s giving instructions on acting.

 

The first few weeks of rehearsal will just consist of memorizing and practicing lines. Patrick frowns, dragging his feet as he grabs a copy of the script off the stage and says hi to Ryan, who's sitting behind the piano with his feet propped up and his arms behind his head.

 

“You sure you can handle this?” Ryan asks, because he knows how insufferable his boyfriend can be, clearly.

 

“Obviously. I’ll just grin and bear it.” Patrick rolls his shoulders, and turns to make his way across the stage where Brendon is talking to their teacher.

 

He taps Brendon on the shoulder and puts on his fakest smile when he asks him to run lines. Brendon doesn’t seem to notice, full of genuine enthusiasm as he makes his way to the little piece of tape marking where he’s supposed to stand in the opening act.

 

People who are that happy all of the time really exhaust Patrick’s patience. He sighs, standing in front of Brendon, and starts reading the script out loud. There’s no finesse to it, since this is just a run through. They’re both getting a feel for the words, the cues, the characters themselves.

 

They get through everything twice with minimal snapping on Patrick’s part. He’s proud of himself, even if the crack of Brendon’s gum got old the first hundred times he did it.

 

Near the end of rehearsal, when they’ve only got a few minutes left, Gerard walks up to him and leans down to whisper in his ear.

 

“Wentz has been lurking behind that curtain watching you like a creep for the last hour.” It isn’t what Patrick was expecting to hear, and he turns in a circle so fast he almost trips over his own feet.

 

He doesn’t catch Pete’s eye, but he sees the curtain moving and a flash of leather.

 

“How did he even get in here?” Patrick hisses, chancing a panicked glance at the drama teacher. He is so not getting in trouble for Pete’s stalker tendencies.

 

“Beats me.” Gerard shrugs, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“You guys are no help whatsoever.” Patrick groans, and then he quickly makes his way to where the curtains split. He glances over his shoulder. No one is looking at him, aside from Gerard who shoots him an encouraging thumbs up and a smile. He makes his way behind the curtain and bumps directly into Pete’s chest.

 

“Whoa.” Pete chuckles, his voice strained. He gently pushes Patrick back until there’s a few feet of space between them. Patrick crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. It’s not that he isn’t happy to see Pete, he just isn’t allowed to be here and Patrick doesn’t want either of them to get in trouble.

 

“What are you doing here?” Patrick huffs, tapping his foot impatiently. It’s hard to see Pete’s face in the gloom, the velvet of the curtains blocking out the spotlights.

 

“I wanted to see what you were up to. I was curious, so I followed you here. You’re like, really good at acting, by the way.” Pete admits, and Patrick can already feel his anger deflating.

 

“Thanks. I wasn’t even really trying-” Patrick starts, waving his hand dismissively and staring at his shoes. “That’s not the point. You really can’t  be here. This is a closed rehearsal.” Patrick sighs, trying to catch where Pete’s eyes glint in the darkness.

 

“You do realize I already have detention, right? They can’t do much worse to me for sneaking into the auditorium to watch cute boys.” Pete says, eyes immediately widening as he realizes what he just said. His face drains of color and he looks about ready to pass out, covering his mouth in horror.

 

Patrick looks at him, brows furrowed. Does Pete have a problem admitting boys are cute? Is he one of those “no homo” straight guys? Patrick prays that he isn’t, not ready to accept how disproportionately sad he would be if he turns out to be right.

 

“I’m sorry,” Pete starts backtracking, physically stepping backward and putting his head down, his voice turning shaky and weak. “I didn’t mean that. It was inappropriate.”

 

Patrick is very confused.

 

“No. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Patrick laughs nervously, trying to get rid of the tension. It’s almost as if Pete expected to be reprimanded, flinching a little at the sound of Patrick’s voice.

 

“Right. Well. Doesn’t matter if I have detention, I don’t want to get you in trouble too. I should go.” Pete says sharply, both of his hands shoved into the pockets of his skinny jeans and his shoulders up by his ears. He sounds like broken glass. Patrick can’t have that.

 

“Wait!” Patrick blurts, reaching out for Pete’s wrist before he can leave, but remembering what happened last time and jerking his hand back at the last moment. “Rehearsal is almost over. Meet me outside in ten minutes? You can come over to my house. If you want.” Patrick stutters, brushing an errant lock of hair out of his eyes.

 

Pete shifts his hands in his pockets, giving him a considering look. Pete bites his lip and looks away, ghosts still moving in the bags underneath his eyes.  

 

“Alright, ‘Trick. I keep my promises.”

 

xxx

 

Patrick spends the walk home with Pete talking about music. The trees hang overhead and hide away the sun. The light that manages to come through dapples Pete’s face and makes him look like a monet painting.

 

Patrick tries extra hard to crack jokes and make Pete break out his half smile again, trying to smooth over the awkwardness of before. The crinkles that appear next to Pete’s eyes when he’s succeeded feels better than winning any lottery prize.

 

Pete also slips out some other small details about himself along the way. His favorite color is blue. His favorite season is fall because he likes the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet. He thinks Funyuns are disgusting.

 

Patrick has never heard Pete talk this much before. It’s refreshing, and it fills Patrick with the hope that they really can be friends. True friendship, in Patrick’s mind, consists of promising to show Pete his record collection.

 

Patrick holds open the door of his room a little self consciously. He most definitely doesn’t think he and Pete have the same taste, but he’s pleasantly surprised when Pete steps inside and grins.

 

The walls are painted baby blue, and covered in posters of Bowie, Prince, and Elvis Costello. He’s got his guitar sitting in its case in the corner of the room, and his desk is across from his bed, scattered with sheet music and his laptop.

 

“This is _very_ you. I love it.” Pete declares, seemingly over whatever was holding him back just a few minutes ago and springboarding back to his usual smirk-ridden self. He jumps onto the unmade bed without preamble and pulls the dark purple comforter up to his chin, tucking his arm under one of the pillows. Patrick watches him, hopelessly amused.

 

“Right. I’m gonna get out the records. Afraid you’ll have to come sit on the floor for that. It’s pretty extensive.” Patrick laughs, sitting down next to the bookshelf that only contains vinyls. He carefully takes out the first box and starts placing them neatly in a row in front of him. Patrick looks up when he hears a noise, and watches as Pete rolls off the bed and lands on the carpet with a loud _thump._

 

“Ouch. That was a bad idea.” Pete grouses, rubbing his side as he untangles himself from the blanket and crawls his way towards Patrick.

 

“You really don’t think things through before you do them, huh?” Patrick laughs, handing Pete the first record he can get his hands on, which happens to be _Purple Rain._

 

“Reckless is my middle name, dude.” Pete snorts, and flips the album over so he can read the track listing on the back. To Patrick’s surprise, as they go through his collection Pete seems to scoot closer and closer to him until their knees are touching, and their hands brush when they put the vinyls back in their sleeves and carefully arrange them into the boxes on the shelf once more.

 

“Hey Rickster, can I ask you something?” Pete inquires, watching Patrick with a look on his face that’s too intense to look away from.

 

“Yeah, of course.” Patrick says it without thinking. He doesn’t even know what Pete’s going to ask. It can’t be anything too embarrassing, right?

 

“Since you’re so into music, and you play guitar, do you….do anything else? Do you write or, uh, sing?” Pete seems to have a lot riding on this question, his body wound tight and the energy emanating off him in waves.

 

“Well, I mean. I play a lot of instruments? I write melodies, not words. I sing for fun but I’m not really good at it.” Patrick admits sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding Pete’s gaze.

 

“Will you sing something for me? Please?” Pete begs, his eyes wide and pleading and his hands clenched together in his lap. Patrick blanches, shaking his head vehemently.

 

“I can’t.” Patrick whines. He only really sings in front of people for the musical. But that’s different. He isn’t alone on stage, isn’t trying to impress hot boys with mysterious pasts and haunted eyes.

 

“Nonsense. Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me.” Pete chants. Patrick really wishes he was better at saying no.

 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Patrick argues weakly but he concedes after a moment and clears his throat, singing the first thing that comes to mind.

 

He starts off a bit shaky, not knowing what to do with his hands or where to rest his eyes but after a couple bars gets into the groove of crooning out the soft melody of Elvis’ masterpiece.

 

_Wise men say,_

_only fools rush in._

_But I can't help_

_falling in love with you….._

 

He watches his voice seemingly lull Pete into a sense of security, his body relaxing against the side of the bed. His palms are resting splayed out on his thighs, and he closes his eyes, slowly swaying in towards Patrick. His first instinct is to not let it happen because he knows Pete might jerk back again, but watching the swoop of his fringe float with the breeze is too mesmerizing to pull away.

 

So he keeps singing, and Pete falls into him gently, resting his forehead against Patrick’s. They’re barely touching, but the heat from their shared breath starts to fog up Patrick’s glasses. He might as well be singing into Pete’s mouth. When the song ends, Pete opens his eyes, but he’s so close all Patrick can see are eyelashes.

 

“You are _such_ a fucking liar. You have the voice of an angel.” Pete murmurs, barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to break the bubble they’re in right now.

 

His eyes flicker again, the clouds between his eyelashes clearing for a second before the storm rolls back in and he nods slightly, seeming to decide something in his head at that moment.

 

Patrick flounders, opening and closing his mouth, trying to speak with no words coming out. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, can’t figure out if it’s because the proximity of Pete or the compliment.

 

Pete doesn’t seem to expect an answer, just puts his fingers under Patrick’s chin and forces him to look up and meet his eyes, that are more black now than anything else. Patrick holds his breath, for one heartstopping second he thinks Pete is actually going to kiss him.

 

“You’re really talented. I hope one day you can see that.” Pete smiles, a tiny, genuine quirk of his lips. “You most definitely deserved the lead in the musical, by the way. Brendon doesn’t stand a chance.” Pete chuckles, and then he seems to back away before Patrick can blink. He’s on his feet, walking towards the door.

 

“Thank you?” Patrick squeaks, not knowing what else to say to whatever the fuck just happened between them.

 

“I can show myself out.” Pete gives him his patented smirk and turns to leave.

 

“Wait!” Patrick calls, before he can stop his traitorous heart from taking control of his mouth. Pete whirls around to face him, lazily and strangely graceful in the light of the hallway.

 

“Come here. I’ll give you my number, if that’s cool with you?” Patrick manages to say it without stumbling over his words, still suffering from the whiplash over how fast everything just shifted.

 

Pete strides back into the room and hands over his phone with a smile like the cat who just got the cream. Patrick keys in his number and saves it under his name, though he’s almost certain Pete will change it to something ridiculous later on.

 

“Thanks for hanging out with me, Pattycakes. I’ll see you around.” Pete raises his arm to wave behind him and is out the door stomping his way down the stairs before Patrick can say anything more.

 

He’s getting awfully good at that disappearing act. Patrick doesn’t even really want to admit it to himself, but in the safety of his own mind, he can’t help but think about it.

 

Patrick wishes that Pete would stay. There’s something different about him, something golden that he holds close to his chest that a town full of fake people could never hold a candle to.

 

He doesn’t have a clue why Pete Wentz would ever want to hang out with someone like him. But he’s determined to find out what’s behind all the eyeliner and bravado.

 

He thinks there might be someone underneath all of that worth saving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day???? this is miracle y'all pls lemme know what you think.
> 
> chapter title is from vampire money by mcr.


	3. i could write it better than you ever felt it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware, this chapter contains brief allusions/implications of self harm as well as conversion therapy. as much as i don't like spoiling the plot of my fic....i want y'all to be safe. please be careful and read things with caution.

Patrick doesn’t see Pete again until Wednesday. In the meantime, Pete spams him with an absurd amount of texts. Patrick’s phone has never had this many notifications at once. Patrick finds it more cute than he does annoying. Some of the texts are Pete’s opinions on _Star Wars_ or _Terminator._

 

Then, Pete starts sending him these very serious, poetic sort of texts. Patrick can’t figure out whether they’re supposed to be poems or song lyrics, but when he looks them up and finds nothing, he knows that Pete is writing them himself. And for some reason he’s chosen to share them with Patrick.

 

_you only hold me up like this, cause you dont know who i really am_

 

_my insides are copper, id kill to make them gold_

 

_i know my place is nowhere you should roam_

 

_we’re broken down on memory lane, we’re alone together, we’re alone_

 

_make my bed the grave and shovel dirt onto my sheets_

 

Whatever they’re supposed to mean, they leave Patrick confused. But also...strangely proud of Pete. Whether it be his bravery to share his thoughts or the way he writes the words themselves. Patrick decides to leave it be for now.

 

He finds himself walking across the parking lot after school, clutching the straps of his backpack and squinting against the sunlight until something moves in his peripheral vision. He stops dead in his tracks, turns until he’s facing the field by the side of the school.

 

He spots Pete in the grass, looking tiny but strong next to the other soccer players. From this distance, Patrick can’t make most of his features out, but he can see Pete weaving his way through his teammates, fast and stealthy.

 

He kicks the soccer ball towards the goal and it goes in. Pete raises his arms above his head and hoots in victory. Patrick can’t keep the grin off his face, already finds himself walking across the lot all the way to the field where the sidelines are.

 

Once he’s close enough to make the players out, his eyes lock on Pete again. Pete hasn’t spotted him yet, is too busy wiping the sweat off his face and leering at one of his teammates.

 

It’s an odd sight. Patrick didn’t think Pete was the type to be a jock. Not that he’s complaining, really. That uniform really does wonders for the breadth of his shoulders. The jersey also reveals all of the ink slinking up and down Pete’s arms, glinting in the sun and standing out, stark and jet black. It knocks the breath out of him for a moment, and he has to steady himself before he looks back up again.

 

Patrick almost physically leans in, trying to drink in all the skin that’s usually hidden under skinny jeans and hoodies. It’s a shame he didn’t get to see them before. He idly wonders what all of the art must mean to Pete. Clearly enough to put it on his skin forever. Patrick can feel himself salivating a little when he lets his eyes stray to Pete’s legs.

 

He shakes his head, trying to get himself under control and act like he wasn’t checking Pete out in broad daylight. Before his thoughts can get too graphic, Patrick notices something strange. Pete’s movements seemed just plainly energetic and bubbly when he was far away, but as he got closer he could tell his eyes were a little _too_ bright, his smile a little _too_ wide.

 

He’s standing in the middle of the field and clutching the soccer ball, bouncing around from foot to foot erratically. Patrick just wants to put his hands on his shoulders and remind him to breathe, to slow down. His hands are shaking so hard Patrick can see him trembling all the way from the sidelines. He frowns a little, his fringe falling into his eyes as he ducks his head, a little crinkle forming in between his eyebrows.

 

Then, before Patrick can blink, a tall boy with blonde hair and glasses is standing in front of Pete. He watches with a growing tightness in his chest as the boy then does exactly what Patrick was itching to do, and puts his hands on Pete’s shoulders and appears to talk him down. Pete drops the soccer ball, visibly relaxing. Patrick ignores why that makes an icky feeling slither through his stomach.

 

Patrick remembers him being part of Pete’s crew that morning of the first day of class, and he’s pretty sure it’s Gerard’s little brother Mikey. Patrick hasn’t been formally introduced, but then again, none of them have. Gerard is constantly holed up in his basement unless they have rehearsal or school, so it’s not surprising. Mikey doesn’t really hang out with the theatre kids.

 

Patrick stands there for a moment, silently fuming as he watches Pete throw his head back and laugh at something Mikey says. Patrick clenches his hands into fists, and turns to walk home. This is the moment that Pete seems to realize he’s there.

 

Patrick doesn’t turn back to look, but he hears a shout and feet pounding on the rubber turf behind him so he sighs and turns around waiting for Pete to catch up to him. Mikey isn’t far behind.

 

“Hey, Patrick. Didn’t see you there. This is my friend Mikey. Do you two know each other? Cause Gerard is his-” Pete starts to ramble, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

 

“I know who he is. We haven’t met before, though. Hi, Mikey.” Patrick says, cutting Pete off a little stiffly and offering a weak attempt at a smile.

 

“Hey, Patrick. It’s nice to meet you. I hear a lot about you.” Mikey says, a friendly smile on his face and a tinkling laugh that sounds like music.

 

Patrick feels a spark of guilt course through him and his head clears for a bit. He doesn’t know why he already doesn’t like the kid, he’s been nothing but nice and polite. Patrick nods and reaches out a hand, Mikey meets him halfway and gives him a fist bump.

 

“Ditto. Gerard has a lot of crazy stories about you.” Patrick chuckles half-heartedly.

 

“I’m sure he does. I have crazier ones about him, trust me.” Mikey raises an eyebrow at him, as if he’s raising a challenge to Gerard. Even though he isn’t there. The Way brothers are some of the strangest people he’s ever met.

 

“Right. Mikes, can you go get my bag with my change of clothes?” Pete asks, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other. Mikey nods, making his way to the other side of the field where all their extra equipment and outfits are.

 

Pete just stares at him for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words maybe for the first time ever in his entire life, his usual brand of smirk and fakeness gone for the moment. He seems to have lost a bit of his energy and confidence now that he’s alone, and he scratches at the back of his neck nervously.

 

Patrick’s eyes trace the lines of ink on his forearm until he spots something alarming, something that looks out of place when he slowly lets his arm fall back down to his side.

 

Patrick knows better than to make a grab for Pete’s arm to get a closer look, but he has to ask. He knows what he saw, and those most definitely look like scars. Three identical lines, cut neatly across both of his wrists.

 

“How come you’ve never told me about your tattoos?” Patrick inquires, trying to keep his voice even. At this point, he’s waging a war with himself to keep his emotions in check. Pete seems to follow his line of sight to his own forearms, and then Patrick deeply regrets saying anything at all.

 

Pete eyes widen, his shoulders tense and he seems to close in on himself, trying to make himself smaller. He crosses his arms over his chest to hide his wrists and Patrick can almost see the dark clouds rolling back over Pete’s head. Patrick is floundering, beating himself up inside at how he can never manage to keep his fucking mouth shut, always putting Pete in these uncomfortable situations without meaning to, just because he can’t help but try to unlock the mystery inside this whirlwind man.

 

Pete breathes out quietly and seems to make a decision then, clenching his jaw and keeping his eyes casted downwards before he speaks, a little higher than usual. Definitely forced.

 

“No reason! Hey, listen. You should come hang out with us. My friends and I are having a party. You can bring the other theatre dudes too.” Pete says, abruptly changing the subject and looking back up at Patrick, eyes carefully guarded and blank once again. So, he’s going to act like that never happened.

 

Patrick purses his lips, trying to figure out what he wants to do. He knows his friends won’t be too keen on spending time with Pete and his posse, but...they are his friends, after all. They totally owe him this.

 

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll invite them. Just give me a time and place.” Patrick agrees, trying to keep his voice as gentle and kind as he can to not scare him away. He’s excited at the prospect of seeing Pete again but there’s a sinking feeling in his gut. He’s about ready to tear his hair out at this point.

 

“Great. I’ll text you the details. See you later!” Pete calls out, and then he’s turning on his heel and practically running into Mikey. Patrick can’t help but smile a little at Pete’s back, despite his conflicting emotions.

 

He makes a mental note to ask Pete about Mikey later. About the tattoos. Patrick wants to know the deepest, darkest parts of Pete. He’s not sure whether that should scare him or not, but it doesn’t. If Patrick can make Pete’s life even just a little easier, then it’s worth it.

 

xxx

 

Apparently, the party is at Frank’s house this weekend while his parents are out of town. Pete tells him to show up at his address at seven sharp with his friends. Gabe is quick to comply, never one to turn down a party no matter the circumstances.

 

Ryan is sure to force Brendon along-much to his displeasure- which leaves Patrick standing in Gerard’s basement (also known as his bedroom) at six thirty, trying to drag him out of the house.

 

“No fucking wonder everyone thinks you’re a vampire when you never leave this place.” Patrick grumbles, tightening his grip on Gerard’s wrist and pulling. It doesn’t get him very far, since Gerard is both taller and bigger than him.

 

“Why would I want to go to Pete’s party when he doesn’t even talk to me?” Gerard whines, yanking his arm out of Patrick’s grasp and rubbing at his sore wrist. Patrick would apologize but. He’s really not sorry. Gerard isn’t being cooperative.

 

“It’s not Pete’s party. He invited us. Mikey will be there.” Patrick tries, taking his phone out of his pocket to check the time and see exactly how late they’re going to be. Six forty. Fuck. The other guys are supposed to meet them there.

 

“Telling me my brother is going to be there doesn’t make me want to go,” Gerard grimaces. “I love the kid, but I see him every day. It’s not a good bribe. Try harder.”

 

Patrick scoffs, rolling his eyes. Then he gets an idea, and wants to slap himself for not thinking to bring it up earlier.

 

“It’s at Frank’s house.” Patrick says, wiggling his eyebrows at Gerard. Patrick watches him try to contain the smile on his face and fail miserably.

 

“Scorpion tattoo boy? Is that his name? Why didn’t you say so?!” Gerard yelps, looking like he wants to punch Patrick in the arm.

 

“Yes. Please contain your enthusiasm. Let’s go, we’re gonna be late.” Patrick jerks his thumb behind him towards the stairway back up to the kitchen.

 

“Oh no, darling. Everyone knows you show up to a party fashionably late. Besides, I have to get ready. Give me ten minutes.” Patrick rolls his eyes, but he reluctantly nods. There’s no use in arguing with Gerard. It won’t give him anything but a headache.

 

By the time they make it to Frank’s house in Gerard’s car, they’re nearly twenty minutes late. He hopes Pete won’t be upset with him. He also hopes his friends aren’t making it too awkward.

 

Gerard rings the doorbell and Patrick stand beside him, anxiously shoving his hands into his pockets and standing on his tiptoes. Mostly because he hates how short he looks next to Gerard. Gabe is even worse.

 

Pete is the one who opens the door, looking all loose and adorably rumpled. He’s most definitely already drunk. Pete’s eyes widen a fraction in surprise as he realizes who’s at the door, and a second of apprehension flickers across his face before he allows a bit of fondness to escape into his eyes, and he lurches forward towards Patrick with his arms outstretched.

 

Patrick sucks in a sharp breath as Pete pulls him into a hug and he gets a whiff of his cologne and aftershave, sinking into it more than he’d like to admit. He closes his eyes against Pete’s neck and his hands move to grip Pete’s shirt, surprised at this rare moment that Pete allows him to touch but also not wanting to voice it and break the spell.

 

Pete leads him inside with a gentle hand on his lower back, and Patrick feels a bright burst of happiness pool in his stomach. Gerard follows them into the house, tucking his hair behind his ear and venturing off in search of the free alcohol that was promised, and a certain dark haired boy.

 

“I’m glad you made it. I was starting to think you stood me up.” Pete says with a bravado smile, turning to address Patrick for the first time since they got inside and looking down at him with warmth in his eyes. Patrick is positive Pete is staring right into his soul.

 

He feels dizzy, mouth too dry to speak as he continues to try and process this whole different _person_ that Pete’s become. He takes a look around and sees Pete’s friends sprawled on the couch and the floor, the door to the balcony wide open and letting cold autumn air inside. He shivers, and forces himself to keep his eyes somewhere over Pete’s shoulder instead of looking at his obscene mouth and that stupid fucking smirk.

 

“Me? Not wanting to hang out with you? _Never._ ” Patrick ignores the feeling in his chest and says this with gusto.

 

Something breaks behind Pete’s eyes and he can see the vulnerability that he usually hides away, sees how Pete was actually honestly nervous for tonight, and it makes Patrick heart ache with tenderness.

 

Pete is giving him this quiet look like he’s the only person in the world who exists, the only one who matters. It’s overwhelming, to see it so plainly on his face, to realize underneath all that bravado is this soft and gentle boy. A boy who likes him for being exactly who he is, who looks up at him like a flower receiving sunshine for the first time. He’s not sure what to do with it.

 

Pete moves to slings an arm around Patrick’s shoulder and buries his face in his neck. Patrick wants to hold him there, keep Pete all to himself and never let go. It’s an irrational thought, but to be fair he’s pretty sure being this close to Pete makes him go insane.

 

Pete nuzzles him, kisses the skin behind his ear and pulls away like nothing even happened. Patrick stands there, heart pounding, and blushes profusely. Patrick is flustered.

 

He’s utterly confused, still in the process of trying to figure out how Pete is being so cuddly with him right now, and being _okay_ with it. Pete being tactile with him is….rare. World’s away from the boy that almost had a panic attack when Patrick touched him, at least.

 

He should probably just put it down to Pete being drunk, but he has this burning feeling that there’s more to it. Too many things he doesn’t know about Pete.

 

He decides to really bask in Pete being this wasted though, because it is kind of hilarious. But also wonderful to see him so happy, so he decides to let it go.

 

At one point during the night, Pete starts complimenting him and never seems to stop, like a firehose that finally found its on switch and can’t (or doesn’t) want to turn off. It’s a constant stream of drunken babble, Pete will probably endlessly kick himself in the morning, but the way Pete hangs off him without a care in the world makes Patrick’s face even more red.

 

“Have I ever told you how fucking _beautiful_ your eyes are? They’re like three different colors. They remind me of a fucking riptide, man, I could drown in ‘em.”

 

Patrick decides now would be a good time to ask Pete about Mikey, before the boy in question shows up and confirms what Patrick is afraid might be true. The drunker Pete is, the more likely he probably is to tell the truth about this, among other things. It’s good logic on his part, Patrick thinks.

 

“Hey, Pete?” Patrick interrupts Pete mid-ramble. Pete tilts his head, making an encouraging noise for Patrick to continue. “You and Mikey….are you guys like...a _thing_?” Patrick manages to squeak out. He wishes he could be more eloquent, but he’s dying to hear the answer.

 

Pete scrunches his face up in confusion, and then this big, goofy grin breaks out onto his face. Patrick feels like his heart is in his throat, but his panic and sadness come to a grinding halt when Pete snorts.

 

Pete then proceeds to hunch over, laughing hysterically and wiping the tears out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“Oh my God, Trick. Mikey and me? That’s a good one. You really had me going there for a second.” Pete gets out between panting breaths. Patrick just stares at him, dumbfounded, until something clicks in Pete’s brain and he looks back at him with this pitiful expression.

 

“Oh, dude. No. I’m sorry. I’m not gay. Sure as hell not into Mikey either.” Pete is trying to placate him. Patrick isn’t sure whether he believes him or not.

 

“Right. Yeah. I totally knew that. Can we go get a drink?” Patrick pleads. Anything to make him feel a little less hollow inside.

 

Pete leads him to the kitchen and he’s bombarded by Gabe. Also, he notices that Frank has a coy and blushing Gerard caged between his arms up against the counter. Patrick isn’t even surprised.

 

“Darling! Thank god you’re here. These punks are so boring.” Gabe whines, pulling Patrick in and kissing him on the cheek in greeting. Pete looks affronted by this exchange. Patrick might even say he looks downright angry, brows furrowed and his mouth doing this cute little pout. It gives Patrick a fizzy feeling, like a caffeine high without the crash.

 

“Sorry I’m late. Blame Gee.” Patrick says, and then he spots Brendon’s tall hair and sparkly blazer across the room and he scoffs. “Why is he here? Ugh.”

 

“Ryan dragged him along. I think the lady doth protest too much.” Gabe replies, poking him in the face just to be a nuisance. Patrick slaps his hand away and glares at him.

 

“My reasoning for hating Brendon is justified. He’s pretentious and he stole my spot in the musical.” Patrick sticks his nose up in the air haughtily and crosses his arms over his chest. Gabe’s eyes are unnaturally wide, focused somewhere behind Patrick’s shoulder. He turns around and comes face to face with Brendon.

 

“Shit.” Pete says, grimacing and stepping up behind Patrick to pull him back in case fists start flying. Brendon doesn’t seem angry at first.

 

“Is that what you really think of me?” Brendon asks, this awful, betrayed look on his face. Like he didn’t know Patrick hated his guts. He looks like a kicked puppy, and Patrick feels guilty all of a sudden.

 

“I-I-” Patrick stutters, at a complete loss for words. He doesn’t even know if he should apologize or just hurl an insult at him.

 

“I only came here because Ryan asked me to.” Brendon states, clenching his jaw and widening his stance. He looks furious now. “God knows why you’d want to hang around this deadbeat and his gang.” He spits. Patrick stares at him, mouth wide open with shock.

 

“Great. You can fucking leave then. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Pete speaks for him, stepping in front of Patrick and clenching his fists.

 

“You know what, Patrick? I thought you were nice. I thought we could be friends. But clearly that’s never going to happen. I deserve the lead. I _earned_ it. Maybe if you stopped being petty for one goddamn second you’d see that someone else in this school has talent besides you.” Brendon is nearly shouting now, and everyone in the house seems to be frozen.

 

It’s dead silent, and then Pete is moving, taking a swing at Brendon’s face.

 

Brendon ducks just in time, and Patrick pulls Pete back by his biceps. Ryan appears in the doorway and takes Brendon’s hand. Pete’s chest is heaving, eyes dark with rage.

 

Patrick hears the front door slam, and then the talking starts up again. He’s pretty sure Gabe is saying something to him, but he isn’t really listening. His ears are ringing, and he still has his hands on Pete’s skin. It’s awfully distracting.

 

“Calm down, Pete. He’s gone.” Patrick tries to placate him, sliding his hands up to Pete’s shoulders and squeezing. Pete shakes his head, running a hand through the sweaty hair that’s stuck to his forehead and making it stick up.

 

“I can’t believe you think him saying that shit about me, about _you_ is okay. I’m gonna kick his ass on Monday, just you fucking wait.” Pete fumes through gritted teeth.

 

“It’s not okay. But the shit I said about him behind his back wasn’t nice either. We’ll get along because we have to. Don’t worry about it. I can handle him.” Patrick says, keeping his voice soft and soothing. Patrick knows the way Pete reacted wasn’t good, but he can’t help but think Pete was only trying to protect him. It gives him a warm feeling low in his belly.

 

Patrick feels too sober to be dealing with this tonight. He doesn’t need Pete to be his knight in shining armor, no matter how sweet he may be when he offers it.  

 

“If he gives you any more attitude, I’ll know. And I’ll take matters into my own hands.” Pete huffs. Patrick rolls his eyes, fondly exasperated.

 

“Sure.” Patrick says just to appease him. He rubs his hands down Pete’s shoulders again, straightening out his shirt and reaching down to briefly squeeze Pete’s hands.

 

“That kinda killed the party though, so I’m gonna go home for the night, okay?” Patrick says, letting go of Pete reluctantly and trying to make his way across the room to where Gerard is. Pete blocks his path, smooth as ever when he leans in to whisper in Patrick’s ear.

 

“Wait. Let me take you home. Please?” Pete pleads, and Patrick can’t look into those whiskey eyes or he’s gonna cave instantly. He shakes his head. Drunk Pete driving Patrick anywhere, especially home, is a terrible idea.

 

“No. You shouldn’t be driving. Gerard is my ride back. I’ll see you at school.” Patrick replies, and before he can even move Pete is hugging him tightly. He clings on like an octopus, won’t let Patrick go until he’s satisfied.

 

“I’m really not supposed to do this. They tried to beat it out of me. In more ways than one. But you’re just so sweet I couldn’t resist. Bye, dude.” Pete smiles, but Patrick is beginning to understand. He can see how disappointed Pete is, his smile not reaching his eyes. Pete hates to see him go because of a stupid fight that he provoked.

 

Patrick has some sneaking suspicions of why Pete has been conditioned to not touch boys in any sort of affectionate way. If it’s what he thinks it is, it’s going to break his heart into tiny, fractured little pieces. He already feels anger bubbling under his skin on Pete’s behalf.

 

Patrick turns away from him, forces himself to not look back as he drags Gerard away from Frank and listens to him swear under his breath about it all the way to the car.

 

Gerard slams his head against the steering wheel and groans.

 

“He’s got that stupid fucking lip ring and it’s so unfair. Why did you have to leave right when he was totally gonna take me upstairs and kiss me?” Gerard complains, glowering at Patrick.

 

“Sorry. That fight with Brendon sort of ruined the party for me.” Patrick sighs, sinking lower in his seat and pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Gerard’s face softens, and he frowns at Patrick for a good minute before he speaks.

 

“I’m sorry. That was rough. It’s fine. I’ll see Frank on Monday. Making out behind the bleachers is way hotter anyway.” Gerard grins, and Patrick can’t help but laugh.

 

“Whatever. I don’t wanna know. Take me home already. I want to sleep for a million years and pretend Brendon isn’t going to make my life a living hell.”

 

When Patrick wakes up the next morning, it’s to a text that was sent late last night.

 

_3:07AM: were only liars but were the best_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully this chapter being a bit longer than the others makes up for me taking forever to post it???? im very sorry please enjoy this and leave me kudos/comments bc they motivate me!! come yell about fob w me @ gothicpete on tumblr. xoxo
> 
> chapter title is from hum hallelujah of course :-)


	4. pray for the wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains some slurs and overall homophobia, internalized on pete's part and otherwise. little bit of violence too, and a brief allusion to STDS/harmful stereotypes about mlm. please be careful if this isn't your thing. it just gets heavier from here.

Patrick isn’t really sure where he and Pete stand, especially when they’re both lying to each other (and themselves) about important things. He doesn’t expect Pete to show up at rehearsal for the musical again, but he becomes something of a permanent fixture in the following week after the disaster of a party.

 

It’s a pleasant surprise, and their drama teacher seems to be weirdly fond of Pete even though they’ve hardly exchanged words. In fact, Pete doesn’t do anything more than talk to Patrick and glare at Brendon, while the rest of the theatre kids and stage crew nervously skitter around the edges, giving him a wide berth of space.

 

He also helps Patrick when he has to do quick costume changes during dress rehearsals which is….interesting, to say the least. It’s possible it’s become a weird game between them.

 

Patrick is mostly awkward and fumbling while he changes behind the curtain and Pete holds his costume while he strips down to his underwear. He feels a bit self conscious, has the urge to cover his chest and stomach but refrains.

 

Pete looks at him reverently, seems to take him in from head to toe like he’s artwork, his face falling open for few rare seconds at a time to look up at Patrick like he’s the only sun he’ll ever need. It sends a shiver down Patrick’s spine, and then Pete hands him his costume and the weird tension between them breaks because Patrick starts ranting about something quizzical like he always does.

 

Pete seems to get sheepish then, keeps his hands behind his back and looks down at the stage floor. He won’t meet Patrick’s eyes, but he laughs and nods at all the right times while Patrick talks and adds in a clever comment here and there that makes Patrick puff out his chest with pride.

 

Once he’s changed into the costume, he feels even more embarrassed than he did when he was nearly naked. Since he’s playing Maria, he has to wear a fucking dress.

 

It’s not that he has any problem with crossdressing, but it’s totally different when he doesn’t have the figure to wear a dress in the first place and he feels downright uncomfortable in the stage makeup. He narrowly avoids having to wear the wig.

 

Not to mention, he’s standing in front of his hot guy friend who he happens to have an awful crush on. He couldn’t possibly look any worse, staring at himself in the mirror backstage with Pete directly behind him.

 

“I’ve never seen you in a dress before. You clean up good, Stump.” Pete says, treading lightly in case the comment might upset Patrick. If possible, he flushes an even darker red and shoots Pete a glare in the mirror.

 

“Of course not. Your style is much closer to this costume than mine is.” Patrick retorts. Pete puts a hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded.

 

“I resent that!” Pete bellows, in a strange imitation of a damsel in distress. Patrick turns around and flicks him on the ear.

 

“Am I wrong?” Patrick asks, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

 

Pete’s eyebrows raise a little bit in surprise, as if he’s shocked that Patrick is taking the banter and affection so far, and so easily too. Being with Pete is as easy as breathing though, and with Patrick’s tactile self he just resolves that Pete will have to get used it.

 

“No.” Pete huffs, not meeting Patrick’s gaze and crossing his arms in front of him defiantly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Pete was the younger one out of the two of them.

 

“That’s what I thought.” Patrick grins triumphantly, and turns back to the mirror to smooth the dress down his legs and try to stop his hands from shaking. He really doesn’t wanna go out there and face his friends in this horrible outfit. It’s going to be so humiliating he’ll probably have to fake his own death.

 

He turns and drapes himself over Pete’s right shoulder with a groan, turning his face into the fabric of his shirt and closing his eyes. Pete stiffens a bit but shifts so Patrick can fully tuck his face into Pete’s neck. He smells nice.

 

“Hey,” Pete says softly, turning his head a little to whisper into Patrick’s forehead, voice like silk over his frayed nerves. “You okay?” Patrick doesn’t want to lie for once. Not to Pete.

 

“No,” Patrick admits, shaking his head vehemently and swallowing hard.

 

“I can’t go out there in front of my friends, in front of an entire fucking audience of people in this dress. It’s my worst nightmare. I wouldn’t have this stupid problem if I had gotten the male lead.” Patrick whines. Pete grabs onto his arms and turns Patrick to face him with surprising force.

 

“Listen to me. You look great. If anything, your friends will tease you. So what? That’s what friends do. As for the audience on opening day, you told me yourself; boys playing girls in theatre is a common occurrence. Don’t worry about what they think of you. If you get nervous, just look at me. I promise I’ll be there.” Pete commands Patrick’s attention, his voice firm and his eyes tender.

 

“Okay. Thanks, Pete.” Patrick smiles up at him, and dares to reach forward in order to push Pete’s bangs out of his eyes. Pete doesn’t stop him, in fact, he doesn’t even flinch. Patrick considers this a small victory, and turns to walk back out onto the stage with a steady warmth blooming inside his chest that fills him with confidence.

 

Before he can even make it to his mark so the dress rehearsal can officially start, he hears Gabe wolf whistle from the front row. Patrick groans internally, but turns to face his friend and give him his best death glare. Gabe beams up at him and gives him a standing ovation.

 

“It’s a shame you don’t show this much skin more often. Why is it that you turn me down every time I ask you out?” Gabe simpers, clutching his hands to his chest dramatically.

 

“We’ve been over this, dude. You hit on everything that moves. I don’t date boys who look like they walked straight out of _Wham_! music video.” Patrick huffs.

 

“But you loooooove _Wham!_ , Pattycakes.” Gabe whines, pouting like it’s his goddamn job. Luckily, this strategy has never worked on Patrick.

 

“Whatever,” Patrick mumbles, rolling his eyes. “The 80’s was a formidable decade for music but that does not mean you should dress like we’re still living in it.”

 

“I think my style is more 90’s or early ‘00’s, actually.” Gabe says thoughtfully.

 

“I was referring to the overall neon, Gabe. But if it helps you sleep at night, keep telling yourself that, buddy.” With that, Patrick turns on his heel and walks back to his mark on the stage across from Brendon. It’s going to be a long, excruciating rehearsal if the look on Brendon’s face is anything to go by.

 

xxx

 

The next day, Pete invites Patrick to eat lunch with his friends. Despite the fact he went to the party, he’s only met Mikey, and somehow managed to avoid the rest of Pete’s weird band of merry, punk boys.

 

He’s incredibly nervous that they’re going to hate his guts, but he’s not sure why. Maybe because there’s absolutely nothing hardcore about him. He doesn’t have a badass bone in his body.

 

Nevertheless, he agrees to sit with them and lets Pete guide him through the sea of teenagers in order to stop at the table right in the back corner by the bathrooms.

 

Patrick sits on the edge of the seat, Pete squeezing in against his side and separating him from everyone else across from them. Pete must notice how anxious Patrick is, because he voluntarily gives introductions.

 

“Patrick, you’ve met Mikey.” Pete starts, waving a hand at the blond boy sitting directly across from them. Mikey gives him a friendly smile and an encouraging thumbs up, but Patrick can only manage a weak smile back.

 

“He plays bass a lot fucking better than I can and he also knows how to score free booze.” Pete sits up a little straighter and clears his throat before continuing down the line, pointing to them one by one.

 

“Patrick, this is Joe. He’s definitely the most rock ‘n roll out of all of us. He can shred like nobody’s business on guitar.” Pete says; boasting about his friend’s talents is a hobby of his.

 

“Joe, this is Patrick. He absolutely deserves the lead in the musical and he sings like an angel. I’m pretty sure there’s not anything he _can’t_ do.”

 

Patrick can feel his face heating up, but he leans across the table and accepts Joe’s fist bump anyway.

 

“Nice to meet you, kid. Pete never shuts the fuck up about you.” Joe laughs. Pete gives him a look and does an abortive hand gesture that Patrick doesn’t know what to make of before he moves on to the next person.

 

“Patrick, that gentleman over there with the muscles is Andy. I’m pretty sure he could kick all of our asses, but he puts up with our bullshit for some reason. He is the smartest and that’s probably because he’s straight edge. Did I mention he’s a fucking _beast_ on the drums?” Andy gives Pete a fond look, and then he turns his gaze on Patrick, considering.

 

“You’re cute. I can see why Pete likes you already.” Andy says, smiling in this awfully knowing sort of way. Patrick is startled by how soft his voice is, having a hard time matching it up with his scary exterior.

 

“Thanks?” Patrick squeaks, blushing even harder than he was before. Pete doesn’t have anything else to interject here, so he points to the last boy at the table.

 

“Last, but not least, this is Frank. Resident pretty boy and charming as all hell. He has possibly the most decorative tattoos I have ever seen and he’s also the best rhythm guitarist around. You have to see him play sometime, it’s a religious experience.” Pete says it like he’s giving Patrick a warning, which seems a little odd.

 

Frank gives him a toothy, predatory smile, and Patrick expects a handshake at best. Instead, Frank flicks his dark hair out of his eyes and fiddles with his lip ring while giving Patrick a slow once-over.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, sugar. I’d love to hear you sing sometime.” Frank grins, and then he’s getting up from the table and narrowly avoiding hip checking the corner before wrapping his arms around Patrick’s chest and tucking his chin over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick tenses up, unable to speak as the shock of it settles over him.

 

“Sorry, he’s kind of a cuddly bitch. Just his way of saying hello, don’t mind it. Like a lap dog, I swear, Jesus Christ. Down, Frankie.” Pete sighs, pulling at one of Frank’s arms. Patrick is pretty sure his entire face and neck are bright red now.

 

But he thinks he’s beginning to understand. Frank is the equivalent to Gabe in Pete’s world. He thinks eventually he’ll get used to it.

 

It’s just really hard to believe someone that looks as intimidating as Frank does is so….warm and welcoming. Frank lets go of him, stepping back and ruffling his hair before returning to his seat.

 

Patrick was expecting Pete’s friends to be more….well, rude. They look like a ragtag bunch of boys who could beat the shit out of him. But if Pete is friends with them, then clearly it’s for good reason. They all seem to be strangely cuddly and overly welcoming.

 

Patrick feels some of the tension drain out of him, and he lets himself relax into Pete’s side while he watches everyone talk animatedly around him.

 

He nibbles at his food, pushing it around the tray and trying not to look incredibly twitchy. He can hear Pete talking about him with a hint of wonder and awe coloring his voice to Mikey across the table, and he can’t help the tiny smile that breaks out across his face and tries to hide to by burying it in Pete’s shoulder.

 

By the time lunch is over and they’re about to head to their next class, Patrick’s tray is only empty because Pete was stealing food off of it. Patrick can’t say he minds all that much, but that’s probably just because he has a soft spot for Pete. He thinks if anyone else tried to steal his food he’d probably slap their hand away.

 

Patrick is walking a little behind Pete, struggling to keep up with his quick strides down the hall. He’s gotten used to Pete walking him to class, but it seems today he’s in a hurry. Or maybe just full of too much energy he doesn’t know what to do with. He looks like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

 

Patrick jogs to catch up with him, ready to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, when he sees a group of jocks start coming towards them out of his peripheral vision.

 

He’s pretty sure they’re some of the guys on the football team, but he only really knows the name of the main asshole who seems to be their leader. Or however high school hierarchy works. The point is Patrick and his friends have been bullied by him before. His name is Chad, because what else would it be?  A fitting name for a douchebag.

 

Patrick bumps into Pete’s back when he stops abruptly in the middle of the hallway, and then before he can blink Pete is stepping forwards and trying to put on a brave face.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Pete says, raising his chin defiantly. Patrick thinks this is a terrible idea, to provoke a guy who is twice as big as the both of them. Then again, they do have more back up. Frank, Mikey, Andy, and Joe all trail out of the cafeteria and stand behind them. Chad only has two of his minions with him.

 

It also seems weirdly out of place, for Pete to talk to anyone first, let alone in a hostile manner. As far as Patrick can tell, Pete usually likes to keep his head down and pretend he’s invisible at school. Clearly there’s some history he’s missing here. What _does_ he know about Pete?

 

“I want you to stop walking around this school with your twink boyfriend, that’s what. It makes me sick to my stomach.” Chad hisses, clenching his fists by his sides. Patrick feels his heart skip a beat, his body locking up in fear as his blood runs cold and he can’t seem to move his feet, can’t open his mouth to defend either of them.

 

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” Pete says through gritted teeth, harsh in the midst of the whispering of all the people crowding around them in the hallway to watch a fight brewing. Patrick flinches at the words, a knee jerk reaction he can’t seem to help.

 

“Second of all, it makes me sick to my stomach to watch you shove your tongue down your girlfriend’s throat during homeroom, but you don’t see me complaining about it and trying to fist fight you over it, do you?”

 

Since Patrick can’t move, Mikey takes this as his cue to step up behind Pete and grab his arm, just in case he tries to lunge.

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Chad demands, brows furrowing in confusion. Patrick can hear Joe snort behind him, and he has to stop himself from letting a smile quirk his lips when it’s possible they’re about to get the shit beat out of them.

 

“I hate to break this to you, but I’m not even gay. Maybe you should pick on someone your own size.” Pete says, but he seems to have lost his confidence, his voice trembling with fear and dishonesty.

 

“You don’t fool me,” Chad scoffs. “The girls jeans, the eyeliner? Please. That _screams_ faggot. Just do everyone a favor and stay away from us. Wouldn’t wanna catch anything.”

 

A dead silence falls, and then before Patrick can blink, Chad is shoving Pete into the lockers by his collar. Andy and Frank take the initiative in pulling him off of Pete, but he looks so fucking angry and scared, Patrick just wants to hold him.

 

Frank knees Chad in the balls, and he might be small, but he fights dirty.

 

“Not to rain on your parade or anything, but we’re all gay. And we can sure as fuck get your bigoted ass suspended. Wouldn’t wanna lose that football scholarship now, would you?” Frank smiles, a real Cheshire grin, all teeth and malice. Chad doesn’t say anything, and when Frank lets go of him he falls to his knees, clutching at his groin and moaning in pain.

 

Frank bows as a few people applaud him, and then the bell rings abruptly. Patrick can finally work his legs again, so he makes his way over to Pete’s shaking body and places a gentle hand on his lower back and tries to rub in a soothing manner. He can feel the warmth through his t-shirt, his body burning up like a furnace.

 

Pete has his face hidden in his arms against the locker, and he won’t turn around and meet Patrick’s gaze. He’s ashamed, and Patrick has the sinking feeling that he’s crying.

 

“Pete, are you okay?” It’s a really stupid fucking question on Patrick’s part, but he doesn’t know what else to say to comfort him. Pete doesn’t say anything, tears clogging his throat. He just shakes his head, and finally turns to Patrick when the rest of the hallway has cleared out except for the two of them, Mikey, and Frank. Mikey squeezes Pete’s wrist in reassurance as he leaves for class, and Frank gives Patrick a fist bump.

 

“Call me if you need anything, alright, Petey?” Frank shouts, walking down the hall backwards and giving them a smile. He must still be hopped up on the adrenaline. Pete gives him a distracted thumbs up but he can’t manage the smile in return.

 

Pete seems to fully deflate once they’re alone, hunkering down and-in a display of true exhaustion- he collapses against Patrick’s chest and wraps his arms around his waist tightly. Patrick is shocked, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He wraps his arms around Pete in return and rubs his shoulder blades as he continues to tremble and cry into Patrick’s shirt.

 

“I’m sorry.” Pete sobs, voice breaking and muffled by fabric. Patrick lifts his face up by his chin and wipes away the eyeliner running down his face.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault. It’s never your fault when someone else does that to you.” Patrick says fiercely, trying to rock him back and forth like comforting a baby. For some reason, he thinks this will soothe Pete.

 

“There’s something wrong with me, Patrick.” Pete says, brittle in Patrick’s arms and swaying like he can’t stand by himself.

 

“No, Pete. There’s nothing wrong with you. I promise. There’s something wrong with _him_. With this world. But never you. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” Patrick replies, trying to keep his voice as even and calm as possible.

 

But he’s angry. He’s fucking furious this even happened at all. It isn’t what Pete needs right now. He doesn’t deserve it. None of them do.

 

Pete laughs wetly, like there’s an inside joke Patrick isn’t in on.

 

“Trust me, you have no idea how fucked up I really am. You’d run for the hills.” Pete smiles up at him, rueful as tears run down his face.

 

Patrick pushes Pete’s hair out of his eyes and dares to kiss him on the cheek. Pete looks startled, but seems too tired to step away from him in protest.

 

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m in it for the long haul with you. I accepted that a long time ago. I wanted to get to know you. And someday you’re gonna have to let someone in. It doesn’t have to be me, but God, I hope it is. No matter how selfish that sounds.” Patrick admits, his cheeks flushing.

 

Pete disentangles himself from Patrick finally, in order to wipe his face and pull his hood up over his head.

 

“I have a feeling you’re gonna regret this.” Pete says, voice sour and the tilt of his mouth wry.

 

“Not a chance.” Patrick says with no hesitation, and then he forces Pete out the school doors so they can walk back to his house. Patrick’s parents are working during the day, so the house is empty. He thinks Pete deserves to skip the last couple hours of the school day.

 

xxx

 

A few hours later, after Patrick has talked Pete into staying for dinner and given his mother a call to let her know where he is, Patrick looks down at Pete from his spot on his bed, and smiles a little at Pete sitting cross legged on the floor, studying his record collection again.

 

Patrick is trying to do homework, but it feels like a lost cause with Pete in the room. He’s just so goddamn distracting.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Patrick blurts out, breaking the comfortable silence between them. Pete puts down the record he’s looking at and meets Patrick’s eyes, nervous again.

 

“I wanted to ask you something.” Pete says timidly.

 

“Anything.” Patrick says, before he can overthink what this could possibly be about.

 

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to my soccer game on Saturday? You don’t have to, of course. It’d just mean a lot to me if you came to watch me play….” Pete babbles, trailing off and ducking his head to pick at a thread from the knee of his ripped jeans.

 

“Of course. I’ll be there. What time?” Patrick says immediately, before Pete can backtrack and talk his way out of the invitation.

 

Pete’s face lights up, his smile beaming and making Patrick’s chest bloom with warmth. He’s so gone for this boy, but there’s so much he doesn’t know. It’s like he’s standing in the eye of a fucking hurricane, completely and utterly screwed. But there’s no turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to post this. let me know what you think? you can now find me on tumblr @wentzology. chapter title is obviously because pray for the wicked came out today. and i just think it's fitting for the content of this one. gooooo buy it on itunes folks.


	5. i love the mayhem more than the love

Patrick isn’t the most observant person, but the longer he’s friends with Pete the more he gets to know him. His nervous ticks, the way he avoids certain topics. But most importantly, Patrick finally understands why they never hang out at Pete’s house.

 

One afternoon, Pete’s parents come and pick him up from school. Pete abruptly puts several feet of distance between them, and doesn’t even look at Patrick when he says goodbye. Patrick doesn’t catch any of their conversation because he’s too far away, but he watches as Pete hunches over to talk to his mother in the passenger seat.

 

His body language seems...deflated. Tense. Maybe even a little angry. A bit like a kicked puppy. Patrick watches him get into the backseat and shove his headphones into his ears in the hopes to block out whatever his parents seem to be lecturing him about.

 

After this exchange happens, Pete keeps his distance from Patrick for a few days. He doesn’t show up to the musical rehearsals. He doesn’t invite Patrick to have lunch with him and his friends.

 

By Friday afternoon, Patrick has had enough. He wants an explanation. He thinks Pete owes him that, because he’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything wrong. Not to mention, he misses Pete.

 

On his way out of the auditorium, he’s stomping his feet petulantly and not looking where he’s going. He runs straight into Pete’s chest and promptly falls to the hard floor on his ass.

 

“Ouch.” Patrick groans, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him. Patrick sits up, and Pete’s outstretched honey-gold hand comes into focus. Patrick takes it, and Pete lifts him up onto his feet without breaking a sweat. For a tiny guy, he sure has a lot of strength. Patrick is begrudgingly impressed.

 

Patrick is also not very good at staying mad at Pete. He can’t seem to decide whether to be cold towards him or just plain desperate for his attention. Neither option is a good idea, so he opts for middle ground. Vaguely annoyed but also sympathetic to Pete’s plight. If only he’d explain why.

 

“You should watch where you’re going, Tricky. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that genius mind of yours.” Pete teases, tapping at Patrick’s temple. Patrick swats his hand away and grins at the floor before he can school his features into a poker face.

 

“No, but that definitely hurt my ass.” Patrick sighs, rubbing his most definitely bruised behind.

 

“That’s even worse. Whatever will I do?” Pete pouts at him, laying a hand over his forehead like a damsel in distress who is about to faint.

 

“Shut up, I hope.” Patrick deadpans, before walking down the hall towards the exit. Pete follows him, their arms brushing. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were avoiding me.” Patrick asks, trying to keep his voice even and not at all upset.

 

“No. Well, okay. Yes. I was. But I can explain that. Can I come over to your place? I wanna talk to you about something important and I don’t think the school parking lot is the best place.” Pete pleads, kicking the toe of his sneaker against the gravel.

 

“Fine,” Patrick sighs, trying to act put upon and like this isn’t the most exciting moment of his life thus far. Pete is finally going to tell him the truth. “Walk with me.”

 

Patrick’s hopes are quickly dashed when he sees his mom’s car in the driveway. Patrick turns on his heel quickly to face Pete.

 

“You know what? Maybe you should just go home and call me later. I have a lot of homework to do.” Patrick lies, fidgeting with his hat and trying to avoid Pete’s eyes.

 

“You’re just going to blow me off. After you’ve been avoiding me for days. You don’t even wanna give me a chance to explain?” Pete replies, his voice hard and flat. Patrick instantly feels guilty, and he makes the split second decision that he’s going to try to sneak Pete past his mother because he really needs to know what the fuck is going on.

 

“No, I’m sorry. Forget it. The homework can wait. Just come in.” Patrick says earnestly. Pete instantly softens around the edges, tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack and follows Patrick inside.

 

They reach the bottom of the steps before Patrick is caught trying to sneak an older boy into his room. He’s surprised his mother isn’t livid with him.

 

“Hi, Patty. Who’s this?” Patricia asks, tilting her head and smiling at Pete.

 

Pete turns to Patrick and mouths ‘Patty?’ and Patrick wants to strangle him suddenly. Before he can answer, Pete faces his mother and sticks out his hand while pasting a perfectly polite smile on his face.

 

“I’m Pete, Mrs. Stump. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Patricia shakes his hand willingly, seeming to evaluate him from head to toe.

 

“Please, just call me Trish. I’ve never heard anything about you before.” Patricia says, puzzled. She pins Patrick in place with her stare as she says “Is Pete your boyfriend, dear? He’s _awfully_ cute.”

 

Patrick wants to die on the spot. He hopes God strikes him dead with a lightning bolt in this exact moment. Patrick and Pete are both blushing profusely, and Patrick can’t do anything but shake his head vehemently and glare at his mother like she’s evil incarnate. Pete is stood beside him, stuttering uncontrollably.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s okay. I just think you two would make a cute couple. Are you alright there, Peter? Would you like a glass of water?” His mother asks, as if she doesn’t know what she’s done.

 

“Yes, please.” Pete croaks out, voice strained and visibly shaking.

 

Patrick makes his escape with Pete up the stairs and closes the door behind them.

 

“Sorry about that. I’ve never really brought a boy back to the house before.” Patrick heaves a deep breath, dropping his backpack on the floor and falling back onto his bed. Pete sets the glass of water on the nightstand and lays beside him on the bed, a few inches of space between them.

 

“I’m the first? I feel special.” Pete laughs, trying to break the tension in the air.

 

“So are you going to tell me something? Anything at all, really. It doesn’t have to be your entire life story, you know? One step at a time.” Patrick says, trying to goad Pete into admitting anything personal. Patrick doesn’t wanna push too hard, ask more questions than he already has, even if he’s dying to know.

 

“I want to tell you. I just don’t know how, okay? I’m scared you’ll be like everybody else and you’ll just….leave.” Pete groans, pushing his hands into his hair and dragging it down his face, frustrated with himself.

 

“Pete, I’m not like everybody else. Start small. I promised you I wasn’t going to leave.” Patrick sighs, rolling over until him and Pete are nearly nose to nose.

 

“Okay. You wanna know something personal about me?” Pete asks, a challenge in his voice. He opens his eyes and flicks his gaze down to lock with Patrick’s. “I _hate_ Motown.”

 

Patrick gasps, sitting up so fast he gets a headrush. “You take that back right now, motherfucker.” Patrick demands.  “That’s not something personal, Pete. You’re just trying to distract me.”

 

“Maybe,” Pete shrugs. “But what could be more personal to you than music?” Goddamnit. Pete has a good point.

 

“Shut up. You’re going to apologize to me for insulting Motown and then you’re going to tell me something real. Go.” Patrick commands. Pete laughs at him openly, with warmth in his eyes and his hands tucked under his chin.

 

“So bossy. But fine. I’m sorry for saying I hate Motown. It was a bad distraction tactic.” Patrick rolls his eyes but he can’t contain the fond smile on his face.

 

“I forgive you.” Patrick replies, and then it’s silent between them for a few minutes before Pete can work up the courage to speak again.

 

“I don’t really have the best relationship with my parents. In fact, it’s practically nonexistent. Sometimes I think it’s better that way.” Pete says, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Why?” Patrick asks, even though he knows Pete is going to keep giving him vague answers. It’s like pulling teeth.

 

“They think they know what’s best for me. I know they’re wrong, but it’s like they’ve emotionally manipulated me so long I just think it’s better to go along with it. Despite everything that’s happened between us, some part of me still wants to please them. I still want them to love me and be proud of me, you know?” Pete says, muffled against the arm he has draped across his face as if to cover his shame.

 

“I understand. I’m really sorry, Pete. But if they don’t see how wonderful you are, then they must be blind.” Patrick says, sincere as ever. He might not know the entire story but anyone who doesn’t appreciate Pete Wentz absolutely doesn’t deserve him.

 

“They think I’m a disappointment.” Pete snorts.

 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Patrick states, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Oh believe me, I have. Before you met me, at least. Making mistakes is like currency for me.” Pete groans.

 

“Everybody makes mistakes. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Patrick says, trying to soothe him.

 

“What did I do to deserve you?” Pete asks, trying to deflect. He tilts his head to look at Patrick then, cheek on the pillow and eyelashes fluttering.

 

“I wish you’d stop acting like you aren’t worthy enough for love.” Patrick whispers, placing his hand on Pete’s shoulder and squeezing.

 

“Not worthy of yours. I never will be.” Pete sighs.

 

“It’s not your place to decide how I feel about you. Now, how about we listen to _Space Oddity_ and pretend for a while?”

 

xxx

 

Patrick is in the stands at Pete’s soccer game the following Saturday, and he’s prepared a sign that says _#79 PLAYS MIGHTY FINE_ and it may or may not be covered in glitter. If he wants to be Pete’s obnoxious, number one cheerleader, then no one can stop him. Just as the game starts, a couple makes their way to the end of the bench Patrick is sitting on.  Unfortunately, Patrick recognizes them instantly and tries to hold his ground while they glare at the sign he’s holding judgmentally.

 

He doesn’t speak to them, and he tries to keep his eyes on Pete and raise his sign high above his head while yelling obnoxiously when Pete scores a goal. Pete catches his eye, manages to read the sign, and beams up at Patrick before giving him a thumbs up and chasing after the ball again.

 

Pete’s team wins the game by two points, but it’s a victory nonetheless. Patrick makes his way out of the stands and down to the field where Mikey is patting Pete on the back, trying to reassure him.

 

“You played great!” Patrick says, smiling up at Pete, a little lovestruck.

 

“Thanks. I love the sign, by the way. The glitter is a nice touch. I’m glad you think I’m _mighty fine._ ” Pete grins, and before Patrick can reply he watches Pete’s eyes follow something over his shoulder and turns to see his parents making their way through the crowd.

 

“Peter. Good game, son.” Pete’s dad says, patting Pete on the shoulder. Patrick tracks the motion, watching Pete stiffen and shrug the contact off.

 

“Thanks, Dad.” Pete replies, incredibly stilted. Patrick can barely stand to watch this, but he doesn’t want to abandon Pete.

 

“Who’s this?” Pete’s mother asks, turning her cold gaze on Patrick. He refuses to act intimidated.

 

“Uh. This is Patrick. He’s my....friend.” Pete chokes out, scratching at the back of his neck nervously.

 

“Your _friend_. Is that right?” Pete’s mother says, raising her eyebrows in trepidation, as if the word friend has a very different connotation.

 

“Yes, mother. He’s just a friend.” Pete groans. The fact they don’t seem to have any manners, can barely hold a conversation with their own son, is rubbing Patrick the wrong way.

 

“Speaking of friends. You aren’t still hanging around that Way boy, are you?” Pete’s dad inquires. Pete narrows his eyes, and doesn’t answer. Pete’s mom seems to pick up the slack.

 

“They’re such an odd family. Incredibly off-putting. Both of those boys are such a disgrace. You know, I ran into their mother the other day at the supermarket and I swear that woman has got to be psychotic to let her kids live that lifestyle.” Pete clenches his jaw and looks down at the grass. Patrick stares at them, mouth wide open and chest heaving. He’s so flabbergasted he can’t even form words but he’s this close to snapping.

 

“Are you still seeing that Harrison girl? You know, the one who’s going to Harvard for political science?” Pete’s dad interjects. It feels oddly like an interrogation instead of a conversation. Patrick is bubbling with fury, anger rising to the surface with every syllable until it’s an insurmountable wave he can’t control.

 

“Have you ever stopped to wonder why it is that you care so much about how other people live their lives? Especially when it doesn’t even affect you? Not to mention, you don’t really know them. I do. They’re good people, and they have the courage to be themselves. Talking shit behind someone’s back is a really cowardly thing to do. We live in a different world now. People are gay. Get the fuck over it.”

 

Pete stares at Patrick as if he’s got three heads. Patrick can’t say he regrets giving these people a piece of his mind. Maybe it will serve as a wake up call.

 

“Now of you’ll excuse me, I have to go. You coming, Pete? Bring Mikey with you.” Patrick turns on his heel with a flourish and Pete and Mikey both flank him as he walks away.

 

“You didn’t have to do that. Defend my family and me. Thanks.” Mikey says, quiet and sheepish.

 

“Yeah I did. You guys are my friends. No one talks shit about my friends, let alone to them.” Patrick huffs. Pete gives him an incredulous look.

 

“You’re something else, Patrick.” Pete’s lips quirk up in a tiny smile, like he can’t believe someone defied his parents and got away with it.

 

“It was nothing. They needed to be put in their place. I’m sorry, Pete. That must’ve been hard for you.” Patrick says, trying to placate him.

 

“Not worse than usual.” Pete shrugs, hands buried in his pockets.

 

“You guys wanna get pizza?” Patrick asks, because he thinks they deserve to celebrate a victory and he knows Pete doesn’t wanna face his parents after that complete shitshow.

 

“Oh, Tricky. You know me so well!” Pete squeals, skipping ahead of them in unadulterated glee. Patrick thinks freedom looks good on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its back???? sorry it took 84 years. hopefully updates will become more frequent from now on. im seeing my first fob show tonight and i might die. also school starts soon. pray for me y'all. come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob


	6. i cast a spell over the west to make you think of me the same way i think of you

As the musical creeps ever closer in the following weeks, Pete and Patrick start to become _PeteandPatrick_.

 

Patrick can’t really pinpoint when everything shifts, he just knows Pete’s behavior changes drastically.

 

Pete sleeping over his house becomes a staple, with both of them walking home together and Pete throwing open the door like he owns the place, shouting a “Hey Mrs. Stump!” over his shoulder as he races to Patrick’s bedroom.

 

Days start becoming a blur of music and laughter and Pete. Patrick starts to expect his phone to ping with crazy emojis and thoughtful quotes and the most random texts he’s ever gotten from any living soul, but somehow make warmth bloom in his chest anyway.

 

He knows he’s getting too attached but he can’t resist. Can’t resist the wicked smiles Pete sends his way as they sit next to each other on the floor of his bedroom, looking at records, or at school in the cafeteria as Pete stares at him across the table with something unidentifiable settling behind his eyes.

 

Days start becoming incomplete if he doesn’t see that familiar fringe in the corner of his eye, or feel the warmth of Pete’s shoulder as they walk down the hallway.

 

People are used to the sight of them together all the time now, and teachers start to ask where his “other half” is if they’re not seen walking together, which definitely doesn’t make him grin like a girl with a middle school crush.

 

Today, the entire gang has crowded their way into the local diner with the ferocity only starving teenagers can bring.

 

Patrick doesn’t remember whose idea this was, but somehow he ends up crowded into a booth with Pete, Mikey, Gerard and Frank.

 

Behind him, Gabe has an entire side of the booth to himself and Ryan sits across from him, looking perturbed as always, especially when he’s stuck near the edge of the seat because Joe and Andy absolutely have to sit together.

 

In the midst of all the chaos, Gerard firmly plants himself on Frank’s lap and Patrick can hear Mikey groan from beside him. He stifles a laugh, presses his thigh against Pete’s just because he finally can and shivers with the thrill of Pete pressing back.

 

When they all manage to order, Patrick can distantly hear Andy ranting about what red meat does to your arteries, let alone how much the animals suffer.

 

Patrick feels guilty at that and just ends up sharing a plate of fries with Pete and a coke. Gerard is quite preoccupied sucking face with Frank and whispering, so Mikey has turned fully in his seat to talk to Pete and Patrick whilst simultaneously using his hood as a shield.

 

When things finally start to settle down to a dull roar, Patrick is listening to Pete wax poetic about _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ and chewing on a fry thoughtfully. Pete’s voice is like honey in his ear, and his zen is rudely interrupted by Gabe tapping him on the shoulder.

 

Patrick whips his head around to glare at him.

 

“Whoa there. Down, boy. I just wanted to tell you about this dream I had.” Gabe laughs, his head falling over the back of the booth and settling somewhere between his and Pete’s shoulders.

 

Pete grins at this and gestures for him to go on. Patrick rolls his eyes and waits.

 

“Well, okay. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. More of an acid trip.” Gabe grimaces. Patrick snorts, and Pete smiles down at Gabe and tries to shove his finger up Gabe’s nose.

 

“Basically I was in the desert, and I got bit by this cobra. But like, a magical, talking cobra. And he told me I need to learn the art of dance or whatever. Somehow, I ended up in a starship in space. Crazy, right?”

 

“Do wonders ever cease?” Mikey mutters under his breath.

 

“What do you think it means?” Pete asks, all starry-eyed. Patrick is flabbergasted. If no one else is gonna take the piss out of Gabe for this, he will.

 

“I think it means I should start a band.” Gabe says, like that makes perfect sense. Pete nods sagely, and then turns back to the plate of fries. Patrick narrows his eyes at Gabe.

 

“I think it means you have a weird complex with reptiles.” Patrick deadpans.

 

“Sure, honey. That’s gotta be it.” Gabe chuckles, and then he goes back to pestering Ryan.

 

Patrick pokes Pete in the cheek. Pete makes a noise but doesn’t bother to stop chewing.

 

“Why is he like that?” Patrick whispers.

 

“I don’t know. He’s your friend.” Pete shrugs, unconcerned.

 

“He’s your friend, too!” Patrick says, indignant.

 

“Eh, he’s more like an overgrown puppy that we can’t really seem to get rid of.” Pete replies.

 

“The same could be said about you.” Patrick teases.

 

“I resent that.” Pete huffs, pretending to be offended.

 

“You should only be so lucky to be compared to me!” Gabe calls over his shoulder. Pete and Patrick devolve into giggles.

 

After that, the afternoon remains pretty peaceful. Patrick listens to Mikey and Pete talk about comic books, and Gerard even comes up for air to say something. For about five minutes. It’s an achievement, really.

 

Patrick loses the thread of conversation eventually, and he ends up playing with his food as a result. Patrick bites his lip, picks up one of the last french fries, and boops Pete on the nose with it.

 

Pete stops talking abruptly, in the middle of a sentence Patrick didn’t hear, and Mikey starts laughing hysterically. Pete flushes deeply, looking at Patrick from under his lashes and sticking out his tongue at him, because he’s actually five years old.

 

“What’d I do?” Patrick puts on an innocent tone and widens his eyes.

 

“You know what you did.” Pete grumbles, visibly getting back his bearings before trying to remember where he left off in the conversation, scooting closer to Patrick and pressing his whole side against Patrick’s shoulder.

 

He places his hand right next to where Patrick’s is resting on his thigh and Patrick’s heart rate stutters a little. He shoots Patrick warm glances with his puppy dog eyes as he talks, his mouth quirked up on one side, blush still faintly evident on his cheeks.

 

Ryan stands from the booth behind them and announces his departure by throwing a balled up napkin at Gerard and Frank, causing them to break apart and Frank to send him the finger in farewell. Everyone else calls out their goodbyes, and then everything resumes as usual.

 

The waitress comes by to ask them if they want refills, and Gabe ends up flirting shamelessly with her. Not surprising, he seems to flirt with anything that moves.

 

Once Gabe’s attention isn’t otherwise occupied, he turns back around to face Pete and Patrick, where Pete has taken up playing with Patrick’s fingers and inspecting his guitar calluses.

 

“You guys are gross. Just kiss already, would you?” Gabe demands. “The sexual tension is _killing_ me.”

 

“I second that.” Mikey says immediately.

 

Patrick freezes, more worried about Pete’s reaction than his own. Pete remains relaxed against him, but he looks down at their fingers tangled together in Patrick’s lap and smiles timidly.

 

He seems to gather himself before he manages to say anything, whether to deflect or to egg them on, Patrick isn’t sure what to expect. He holds his breath, Pete’s grip on his hand squeezing reassuringly.

 

“That’s impossible. Patrick doesn’t do gross things. His body is made up of kittens, Saturdays, 70 degree weather, first kisses and butterflies.” Pete says, incredibly sincere. Then, he decides to ruin it. “Trust me, I cut that bitch open once to check.”

 

Patrick is left speechless, his face beet red and his heart drumming against his ribs erratically. Gabe steals the words from his mouth.

 

“That would’ve been really sweet, if you hadn’t made that last comment _super_ creepy.”

 

“Seriously, dude, what the fuck?” Mikey groans.

 

Pete just smiles really blindingly and continues inspecting Patrick’s hands with a contented look on his face.

 

“Did you just call me a bitch?” Patrick asks, trying to keep his tone even.

 

“No. Well, yes. But I didn’t mean it. It was for emphasis.” Pete looks up and laughs at him, reaching one of his hands up to ruffle Patrick’s hair and displace his hat.

 

“Did you mean the rest of it?” Patrick can’t meet Pete’s eyes, so he stares down at the tabletop and waits.

 

“Of course. Why would I lie about something like that?” Pete replies, quiet enough so only Patrick can hear.

 

“I don’t know.” Patrick shrugs, a smile popping onto his face and getting bigger and bigger until it takes over his whole face, bunching up his cheeks and scrunching up his eyes into little slits until he practically radiates dopey gooey fondness, his affection for Pete spilling out of his ears and dripping onto the floor next to him.

 

He feels giddy, the tips of his fingers tingling in Pete’s grip like he just downed a whole can of soda. Pete likes him for _real_. He said as much, basically. Pete gets butterflies because of him. Pete wants to kiss him. Be his first kiss.

 

Suddenly, Patrick wants to go home desperately.

 

He pulls Pete up by the hands and drags him out of the booth. Pete does the honors of crumpling up another napkin into a ball and throws it at Gerard and Frank as they dash out of the restaurant, hand in hand and giggling to themselves.

 

Before they can make their way down the street, Mikey stops Patrick with a hand on his shoulder. Patrick groans internally, and lets himself pout as Pete’s hand slips from his own. He turns around to face Mikey and tries not to miss the warmth of his touch already. Maybe Gabe is right. They are gross.

 

Pete waits for him outside the door, hood pulled up over his head and his bangs in his eyes as he quietly watches Patrick, looking more relaxed then Patrick’s seen in weeks.

 

“Hey. Sorry to hold you guys up. I just wanted to tell you that, like, I’ve known Pete for a while, right? But I’ve never seen him this happy before. You bring out the best in him, I think, and I’m glad he’s got you. Take care of him, alright?” Mikey says, ducking his head so Pete can’t hear what he’s saying. Patrick can tell how much it’s costing him just to admit it.

 

“Of course.” Patrick blinks in surprise. “Is this where you give me the intentions speech? Threaten to kick my ass for his virtue? I hate to break it to you, man. But I think that’s long gone.”

 

“No,” Mikey snorts. “Frank or Joe are more likely to kick your ass than me. So watch out. They’re scrappy.” Mikey grins, and Patrick returns the smile before giving Mikey a hug and meeting Pete outside.

 

“What was that all about?” Pete asks, linking their fingers together again as they walk back towards Patrick’s house.

 

“Oh, nothing important. Mikey just wanted to tell me that he’s happy we have each other. And to take care of you.” Patrick states, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.

 

Pete stops dead in his tracks, and then turns to Patrick and beams down at him while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 

“Wow. That’s as good as a blessing from Mikey. Way to go, Trick.” Pete laughs, exhilarated at the prospect of this thing with Patrick finally being more.

 

“I try.” Patrick shrugs, the look on his face sheepish. “Let’s go home.”

xxx

A few hours later, they end up laying in Patrick’s bed with Elvis Costello playing in the background and their noses touching.

 

Patrick is content here, feels happy and warm and safe with Pete so close. Close enough to feel his breath on his lips.

 

Pete holds Patrick’s hands against his chest so he can feel the study drum of his heartbeat. Patrick thinks he could write a song to the rhythm.

 

Patrick is very aware that Pete is within kissing distance. But Patrick won’t be the one to kiss him. Patrick knows that Pete wants to, but he wants to let Pete make the choice. When he feels comfortable.

 

There’s still a lot unspoken between them. A lot Patrick desperately wants to know. He holds so many feelings for this boy already, he can hardly believe how much space Pete takes up in his _heartmindsoul_.

 

Pete pulls back a little just to look up through the fan of his dark lashes at Patrick. He’s breathtaking. Black and gold and oh so tempting.

 

“I’m sorry.” Pete says, dragging Patrick out of his racing thoughts.

 

“For what?” Patrick asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

 

“That I’m keeping things from you. I want to tell you. I really do. It’s hard. I want to be vulnerable with you. Fuck, I want to kiss you. I just have to work up the nerve.” Pete laughs humorlessly, eyes watery and voice strained.

 

“Pete, look at me.” Patrick sighs. Pete looks at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “I can wait till you’re ready. However long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“You promise?” Pete whispers, soft and sweet.

 

“Promise.” Patrick assures him, running a hand through Pete’s hair and letting it rest against the back of his neck.

 

“I think you’re my best friend.” Pete says it as if he isn’t sure; as if Patrick would ever disagree.

 

“You’re my best friend.” Patrick confirms, taking in the delighted smile that takes over Pete’s face. Pete clings to Patrick tighter, wrapping himself around him like an octopus. Patrick can’t say he minds.

xxx

Pete reluctantly leaves that evening, mainly because he’s afraid his parents are getting suspicious about where he’s spending his nights four days out of seven.

 

It turns out this was a mistake. Though Pete has no problems with his parents confronting him, Patrick wakes up in the middle of the night to the obnoxious ringtone Pete set on his phone ( _Genie in a bottle_ by Christina Aguilera).

 

Patrick groans, tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and nonsensically puts on his glasses like they’ll help him hear better.

 

“Patrick,” Pete croaks, his voice completely wrecked. Patrick immediately rolls out of bed and stubs his toe on his nightstand in the dark. He says several expletives before he composes himself, and then he’s asking questions before he can think better of it.

 

“Pete. What’s wrong?” Patrick is practically pleading for the answer. The fact that Patrick would do anything to make Pete happy is a little scary.

 

“Nightmares.” Pete whimpers, taking in shaky, shallow breaths. Patrick’s heart sinks when he realizes Pete is sniffling.

 

“Where are you? What can I do?” Pete is the only one who could get away with calling Patrick at 2AM. If it were anyone else Patrick would be pissed and tell them to fuck off.

 

“Um…” Pete hesitates, sounding like he’s a minute away from hyperventilating. “I’m outside your window?” Pete squeaks.

 

Patrick curses, and then he takes the few steps to his window until he sees Pete standing there with tears streaking his cheeks and his sidekick clutched to the side of his face.

 

He’s trembling like a kicked puppy and looks terrified, but when Patrick meets his gaze his body seems to sag in relief and he tries to muster a smile.

 

Pete has a talent of worming his way into places. His brain. His life. Pete wears his soul on his sleeve, bared for the world to see. He holds the key to Patrick’s heart in the palm of his hand. Patrick lets him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on tumblr about fob or send me prompts @gothfob !!! kudos and comments make my day <3


	7. born under a bad sign, you saved my life

“God, you’re freezing. Come here.” Patrick says, pulling Pete into his arms and leading him to the bed so he can pull the covers over them both. Pete turns around so he can face Patrick, his nose red and his eyes puffy as his eyeliner smears and runs down his cheek.

 

“Patrick, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” Pete chokes out. Patrick puts his hands on Pete’s jaw and forces him to meet his eyes.

 

“Stop that.” Patrick scolds. “Stop saying you’re sorry. You aren’t a burden. You’re always welcome here.”

 

“But I….fuck, I’m a hot mess.” Pete chuckles, voice hollow and smile wry.

 

“That’s okay. I appreciate that about you.” Patrick teases. It makes Pete giggle, so Patrick considers that a win, but that smile falls off his face as quickly as it came, and a little wrinkle forms in between his eyebrows, mouth tightening again and breaths quickening.

 

Pete is still trembling against him, folding more and more into himself, slowly collapsing from the inside and turning to dust right before Patrick’s eyes.

 

Patrick wraps his arms around Pete’s waist as tight as he can to try and desperately hold all his pieces together, reaching towards anything he can reach to soothe, words just tumbling out of his mouth without thinking.

 

“You’re okay, Pete. It’s gonna be alright. You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that? Nobody is going to hurt you. Not while I’m around. I’m always gonna be right here.” Patrick babbles every reassurance he can think of, and they aren’t lies. They’re promises.

 

Pete doesn’t seem to be hearing it. His gaze is far away, his breathing getting more shallow and his chest heaving and shaking. Patrick scrambles for what to do. He thinks shaking Pete by the shoulders would scare him.

 

“Pete,” Patrick tries, gently grabbing him by the chin. Nothing. The lights are on but no one’s home. Pete’s too far into his own head. Patrick is starting to panic now.

 

Then he gets an idea. A stupid, reckless idea. But it’s all he’s got. He might get punched in the face for it, but it’s worth a shot.

 

Patrick puts his hands on Pete’s jaw, and he tilts his head, leaning forwards to brush their lips together. Patrick is playing scared. Their mouths are barely touching.

 

He gathers all his courage and lets himself get lost in Pete for a moment. He can feel it when Pete’s brain comes back online. Pete starts to kiss him back, their mouths sliding together, and then Pete rears back like he’s been electrocuted.

 

Patrick flushes and tries not to look Pete in the eyes. He braces for impact.

 

“What the fuck. Did you just…. _kiss me?_ ” Pete yells, incredulous. When Patrick dares to look at him again, he’s shocked by what he sees. Pete doesn’t look angry. Confused, yes. In awe. Maybe even a bit reverent as his own fingers touch his mouth.

 

“Yes. I did.” Patrick gulps. Pete is looking at him like a lost puppy, but he seems to have calmed down. Patrick is having a hard time reading the situation.

 

“Why’d you do that?” Pete asks, simply.

 

“Uh...I read once that...Holding your breath could stop a panic attack. So when I kissed you...you held your breath.”

 

“I did?” Pete whispers, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Yeah. You did.” Patrick smiles back at him gently.

 

“Oh….wow. That’s really smart.”

 

“I just...I don’t know. I just read it somewhere.” Patrick shrugs and hides his face in Pete’s neck, suddenly flushing from embarrassment, tightening his grip in the back of Pete’s shirt like he can anchor himself with it.

 

Pete seems to have relaxed a little bit, but tension is still thrumming through him like a live wire.

 

“You sure it’s just the nightmares bothering you?” Patrick prods at him carefully. He really doesn’t want to make him upset again.

 

Pete shakes his head, biting his lip.

 

“The nightmares are memories.” Pete admits softly. “My parents, they….sent me to a camp.” Pete swallows hard. Patrick squeezes Pete tighter and tries to rub between his shoulder blades to soothe him.

 

“Like boot camp?” Patrick asks, raising his eyebrows in trepidation.

 

“No. But that would’ve been less emotionally scarring, to be honest.” Pete sighs. He leans back and places his hands on Patrick’s chest, meeting his eyes before he says what comes next. “I lied to you. Obviously, you’ve probably realized that I’m gay. They sent me to a conversion therapy camp.”

 

Patrick feels his heart sink. He had an inkling that whatever was wrong with Pete’s relationship with his parents wasn’t pretty, and he’s never hated being right about something so much before. Patrick doesn’t dare interrupt him.

 

“It was as bad as you can imagine. They tried to beat it out of me, literally.” he says with a bitter laugh. “Tried to condition me into liking girls instead, or whatever, like it was a fucking illness.”

 

“When I got out I just...went along with what my parents wanted. I was too tired and...it was just easier that way. As long as I never had to go back to that place, I played the part. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t for a very long time, and I was okay with that. But then I met you, and, since then I’ve just been….unraveling.” Pete’s voice sounds timid, like he’s trying to curl into himself.

 

Patrick hates it. He hates Pete’s parents. He hates the whole world for hurting Pete this way, someone so undeserving of it. Patrick takes a risk and reaches up to cup Pete’s face with one hand, using his thumb to wipe away his tears. His breath stutters when Pete leans into it, closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows.

 

“I didn’t think conversion therapy camps were legal anymore.” Patrick states, dumbfounded. He doesn’t know what else to say, what he can do to make this better. The damage is already done. All he can do is be here to help Pete heal.

 

“Unfortunately, in a lot of places, they still are. It’s despicable. But I promise you, this isn’t your fault. This is all on me. I get attached too easily.” Pete groans, turning and hiding his face in the pillow.

 

“Knock it off. You know I feel the same way about you. Don’t apologize for how you feel. There’s nothing wrong with it, or you for that matter.” Patrick says sternly.

 

“Deep down I think I know that. It’s like I saw you that day at the game, standing up to my parents. Putting them in their place...and something inside me just snapped. Why should I bend to their will? It’s my life. I want to be happy. You make me happy, Patrick. I’m eighteen. They can’t send me away again.” Pete says, so sincere it makes Patrick’s chest ache.

 

“You’re right. I won’t let them hurt you anymore, I promise. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. I’m not the only one who has your back. And you make me happier than you could ever possibly know.” Patrick laughs, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.

 

“I appreciate that. But until I graduate, I’m stuck living with them. And when I disobey, like I have been...well. My father can still punish with me with his words and his fists.” Patrick gapes at Pete for a moment.

 

“Your mother just sits by and watches that happen?” Patrick gasps, disbelieving.

 

“Yes.” Pete exhales heavily. “She’s afraid of him too, I think. But it’s not like she disagrees with him on the principle of it. She thinks I deserve to be punished for who I am.”

 

“That’s so fucked up. God, Pete. I want to go to your house and scream at the injustice of it all.” Patrick fumes.

 

“I love that you want to defend my honor, but it’s really not worth it. I don’t want you to get in trouble. This isn’t your fight. Please don’t do that. Just let me stay here for the night.” Pete begs.

 

Patrick ruffles a hand through Pete’s hair.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Patrick replies.

 

“Can you sing to me? Please? I think it’ll help me sleep.” Pete pleads. As if Patrick could ever say no to him.

 

Patrick pulls Pete closer, setting his chin on top of his head, and begins to sing the first thing that comes to mind.

 

He keeps his voice light above Pete’s ear, letting it flow out of him effortlessly. He eventually trails off into humming, and when he looks down a few minutes later, Pete is fast asleep in his arms.

 

Patrick’s face softens just looking at him. Pete is all kinds of beautiful when he’s awake. He always seems so full of life, mischievous, bright, talented, intelligent, loyal to a fault. But when he’s asleep he’s at a kind of peace that Patrick has never seen before.

 

Free of the weight of the world. Dark eyelashes fanning his cheeks and mouth parted open.

 

Patrick gently wipes the tear tracks and leftover eyeliner off his face with a tissue and lays his head back on top of Pete’s, burying his nose into Pete’s hair and letting his familiar scent lull him to sleep.

xxx

Patrick wakes up with a Post-It note stuck to his cheek. He groans, rolls over to feel the bed empty and cold beside him, and peels the paper off his cheek with a grimace as it pulls against his skin. In Pete’s hurried chicken scratch, it reads:

 

  _sometimes you need to be sung to sleep. but sometimes you know you can't ever go home to something again. borrowed and blue, thinking of you._

 

Pete didn’t bother to sign it, there’s just a doodle of his bartskull tattoo in the corner. Patrick is filled with a weird combination of melancholy and warmth.

 

He doesn’t know how that could be, but it’s the sort of response Pete usually evokes from him. Patrick grabs his phone off the nightstand and shoots off a text to Pete.

 

_Get home okay? I got your note. You ever think maybe you should be writing poetry for a living?_

 

Patrick checks the time. Noon. Pete’s response is almost immediate.

 

_ya. snuck back in undetected. glad u liked it tricky rick. i always thought my words were more fit 4 songs. theyd sound real prtty if u sang em 4 me._

 

Patrick smiles up at the ceiling and kicks his legs, because no one is there to judge him and he’s buzzing with a feeling only Pete can provide.

 

 _Go on a date with me and you’ve got yourself a deal_ , he replies before he can chicken out of it.

 

_i thought ud nvr ask, lunchbox_

 

Patrick rolls his eyes at the grammar, sends Pete the details, and climbs out of bed to get ready.

xxx

He meets Pete outside his house several hours later with his bike in tow.

 

“You won’t even tell me where we’re going.” Pete whines, pedaling circles around Patrick in an attempt to sate his constant overabundance of energy.

 

“It’s a surprise, you dork. Just follow me.” Patrick laughs, and then he throws his leg over his bike and starts riding down the road.

 

Him and Pete riding their bikes side by side feels like something out of a movie, weirdly surreal in the context of the situation. He has a date with Pete Wentz. He never thought he’d say that.

 

Pete beams at him and Patrick smiles back, lets Pete’s rambling voice wash over him and keep him grounded.

 

Pete’s voice cuts off when they arrive at their destination, and Patrick snorts at the look of confusion on his face.

 

“What exactly have you brought me out here for? Don’t murder me, please. I’m too pretty to die.” Pete giggles. They’re standing in front of Patrick’s favorite place in town. The field, full of grass up to their waists. Beyond it, near the trees, there’s a little clearing.

 

“We’re going stargazing, silly.” Patrick bites his lip. “Leave your bike here. We’ve got to walk a bit further.”

 

Patrick reaches out his hand and Pete takes it without hesitation. It makes Patrick’s heart stop before it resumes pounding erratically.

 

Patrick leads him through the field, the grass tickling their legs and filling their noses with the smell of damp earth. On the other side, there’s a patch of bare ground in the midst of a copse of trees, and the sky is a dark and clear expanse above them. The stars almost look like they’re winking down at them.

 

Patrick sits on the ground and gestures for Pete to sit beside him. Pete does it without comment, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

 

He places his chin on his knee and focuses his gaze on Patrick.

 

“I didn’t peg you for being a romantic who likes clichés.That’s usually more my speed.” Pete states, looking at Patrick in a way he can’t pinpoint.

 

“I’m an old soul.” Patrick shrugs, sheepish.

 

“It’s a nice change of pace. I like it. I like you.” Pete smiles, and then he lays down on the ground and scoots as close to Patrick as possible. Patrick lays back beside him, until they’re touching from their feet to their shoulders.

 

“It’s mutual.” Patrick grins, still in disbelief that this is even happening. As if Pete is reading his mind, he says:

 

“I can’t believe this is happening. I never thought I’d be here. That I’d get to have this. With someone like you.” The sincerity in his voice makes Patrick’s chest constrict.

 

“What do you mean?” Patrick asks, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

 

“I had resigned myself to marrying a girl and having kids. White picket fence and a dog. The whole thing. I wanted my parents to give a shit about me, you know? To not be ashamed of me. But it’s not worth it. This is so much better. Us. It’s good and pure and _real_. This feels right. Like it was meant to happen.”

 

Pete’s eyes are shining at him, full of warmth and magic, an ultra kind of love that should be too soon, too much. It’s just enough. It’s all Patrick thinks he’ll ever need.

 

He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever.

 

Pete kisses him. Patrick sinks into it, grips Pete by the collar and pulls him tight against him.

 

Pete kisses the way he does everything else. Fast, hard, passionate. Reckless one moment, meticulous, careful, and gentle the next.

 

Patrick can never predict what he’s going to do next, but that’s what makes it so exciting. Heart-stopping good. He can feel it in his toes when Pete’s tongue touches his.

 

This is a real first kiss, much better than the one from yesterday, born from panic and desperation. This is like coming home. It’s familiar and comforting when it shouldn’t be.

 

As if they’ve known each other in every lifetime. As if the planets aligned when they met and nothing can tear them apart. Patrick really wants to believe that. Pete makes him believe in the craziest, most cosmic things.

 

When they pull back, panting for breath, Pete grins at him. His teeth shine in the night, the moon reflecting off his face and turning him silver and gold. Pete grips Patrick’s face with one hand, rubbing his cheekbone and holding onto his neck with the other hand.

 

“Never thought I’d get to do that. I used to dream about it, though.” Pete laughs, exhilarated at the confession, at the feeling of a first kiss with a boy. Not just any boy. _His_ boy.

 

Patrick kisses him again, in hopes of communicating everything he feels. It’s burning him from the inside out, but he isn’t as good with words as Pete is. He doesn’t want to scare him away.

 

Eventually, they end up looking up at the stars with their hands entwined. Pete makes up constellations and tells funny stories in terrible voices and Patrick’s stomach aches from laughing.

 

Patrick presses a kiss behind Pete’s ear and thinks _I could do this forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me???? posting two things in one night??? more likely than you think! welcome back. hope you enjoyed it. patrick finally unlocked some of pete’s tragic backstory. come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob 
> 
> title is from ginasfs which is....so fitting for this chapter, in my gay opinion
> 
> p.s i totally stole a scene from teen wolf but listen.....it was a good, cute angsty idea Leave Me Alone


	8. blink back to let me know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been exactly a month. oops. have you missed me? no? okay. hopefully you missed these theatre nerds. enjoy the chapter! we're in the home stretch of the fic. just one chapter and an epilogue left. buckle the fuck up, it's about to get intense in here. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob 
> 
> chapter title from always by panic :~)
> 
> p.s. i've never seen west side story, if you can believe that. i just watched a video of the tony x maria first kiss scene/dance.

The next week is filled with final musical rehearsals, which wouldn’t be so bad, if Patrick wasn’t dreading every second of it. Mainly because he needs this dance down by next weekend for opening night, and he keeps tripping over his own feet. 

 

To make things worse, Brendon doesn’t show up on Thursday. Patrick can’t help but be angry. He’ll admit he’s freaking out a little.

 

“He said he was sick.” Ryan sighed, sounding as resigned as ever from the piano bench. 

 

“Yeah, right. Bullshit. What a  _ convenient _ time for him to get sick.” Patrick grumbled, pacing up and down the stage. 

 

“I’m sure he isn’t just skipping rehearsal, babe. Where would he go? What else could he possibly be doing? Ryan is right there.” Pete points out. He knows better than to try to touch Patrick when he’s practically trembling with rage. 

 

“There’s a good chance he’s missing because he doesn’t wanna kiss me.” Patrick gets out through gritted teeth. 

 

“ _ What? _ ” Pete shrieks. Patrick can see Gabe smirking in his peripheral vision. 

 

“Don’t you dare fucking say anything, Saporta.” Patrick growls. 

 

“I wasn’t going to.” Gabe pouts, innocent as ever.

 

“You were thinking it.” Gabe just beams at him and shrugs. 

 

“Would someone please explain to me what the fuck is happening right now?” Pete asks, arms crossed in front of his chest defensively. 

 

“Oh, darling. You didn’t read the script at all, did you? Brendon and Patrick have to kiss for the musical, silly.” Gerard simpers, patting Pete on the back. Pete recoils from the touch and shudders, looking at Patrick, utterly horrified. 

 

“Why would you agree to that? I thought you hated his guts.” Pete huffs, brows furrowing. 

 

“I do! Listen, I didn’t have a choice. If I want to keep my part in the musical I have to do the scene. I’m sure Brendon is as disgusted as I am.” 

 

“That, I can confirm.” Ryan grins, weirdly gleeful. 

 

“Ugh, whatever. I totally should’ve kicked his ass at the party.” Pete groans. 

 

“Please don’t.” Patrick pleads. “Can we stop talking about this? I need to do this god forsaken dance with somebody.” 

 

Gabe slowly raises his hand. 

 

“I don’t think so, pal.” Patrick glares, and then turns to his friends at large, scattered across the stage and the front row of the auditorium. 

 

“I swear, anyone but him, I am begging you.” Patrick whines. 

 

“Alright. Tell me what to do.” Pete concedes. 

 

“Oh thank God. I’ll tell you how the scene goes to make it a little simpler. You stand on that side of the stage where that tape is, and I’ll go to the other.” Patrick instructs, watching Pete take a few measured steps back until he’s in the right place. 

 

“Perfect. Now, Tony and Maria see each other across a crowded room, full of people dancing. It’s like love at first sight. Then, they begin to slowly approach each other.” Patrick says, his voice echoing around them. Everyone around them has fallen silent, to see if they’ll sink or swim. 

 

Pete and Patrick gravitate towards each other like magnets, slow and steady. Pete is giving him this bright smile, his eyes crinkling with warmth and something else Patrick can’t quite figure out. 

 

“Okay. This dance doesn’t really involve any touching, so. Basically it’s a lot of arms waving and kind of..swaying around each other.” Patrick laughs. 

 

“What a shame.” Pete deadpans. 

 

“Hold your arms out straight at your sides. Now, just do what I do.” 

 

The dance consists mainly of them skirting around each other, a lot like looking in a mirror. Patrick manages to trip up a few times, distracted by Pete’s whiskey eyes. 

 

At the end, Pete tries to improvise by bowing. Patrick rolls his eyes, endeared. 

 

“You’re supposed to hold my hand against your chest. There’s a little dialogue here before the kiss happens.” Pete obliges, grabbing Patrick’s hand and intertwining their fingers before placing it against his heart. 

 

“This is weird. I feel like I just tried to court you in the Victorian era or something.” Pete stage whispers conspiratorially. Patrick giggles, and then Pete is pulling him in by his collar to place a gentle kiss on his lips. 

 

Patrick completely forgets there’s anyone else in the room until he hears the whistling from Gabe in the front row. Patrick flushes, and then he can hear all the chatter going on behind them. 

 

“I’m pretty sure you’re still a better dancer than I’ll ever be.” Pete admits. 

 

“Yet somehow, I still managed to fuck that up.” Patrick snorts, letting Pete lead him off the stage with an arm around his waist. 

 

“Nonsense. I’m just distracting, that’s all. Eye candy was too much for you.” Pete teases. 

 

“Fuck off.” Patrick says good naturedly. 

 

“Oh please. What would you do without me?” Pete scoffs, leading Patrick out of the auditorium through the back door and starting to walk him home.

 

“I’d be helpless in my grief and despair.” Patrick mocks, placing his hand over his heart dramatically. 

 

“I sure hope so. I’m one of a kind. An original!” Pete yells, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. 

 

Patrick sees all the startled people looking at them on the sidewalk and he slaps Pete on the arm, hard. 

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Patrick whisper-screams. 

 

“I will not be silenced.” Pete states, at a much more normal volume. 

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Patrick laughs, rolling his eyes. 

 

Pete continues being loud and brash, making jokes that have Patrick in stitches. Somewhere along the way, they end up holding hands. 

 

Patrick is comforted by the weight of Pete’s hand in his, how close he is. The sound of his stupid laugh. The way his eyes sparkle at Patrick. 

 

Patrick has never been in love before, but somehow he’s sure this is it. What else could explain the fluttering in his stomach and his heart skipping beats? No one has ever consumed Patrick’s heart mind and soul in the way Pete does.

 

When they reach Patrick’s house, he tries to drag Pete inside by the hand like any other day. Pete resists, planting his feet on the concrete.

 

Patrick looks back at him, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

 

“You aren’t staying?” Patrick says, trying not to whine. 

 

“I don’t think I can.” Pete grimaces. “I’d love to, but...I should spend at least one night a week at home to keep up pretenses. We can spend the whole weekend together, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” Pete promises, leaning forwards to plant a kiss on Patrick’s cheek.

 

Patrick flushes, disappointed that Pete won’t be staying but pleased with the promise of a weekend spent together in his room. 

 

“Okay. I l-“ Patrick stutters, stopping himself from saying the words just in time. Pete stares at him, eyes wide. He squeezes Patrick’s hand tighter. 

 

“I’ll miss you.” Patrick corrects himself, trying to keep his voice steady.

 

“I’ll miss you too.” Pete gives him a Cheshire cat grin, like he knows something he shouldn’t. 

 

He leans in to kiss Patrick on the lips, their chests pressed together so Patrick can feel the warmth of his skin through cotton and the erratic beating of their hearts coming together. 

 

Pete ruffles his hair and skips his way down the sidewalk. Patrick grins after him, happier than ever. He’s in love with an absolute dork. 

 

xxx

 

_ 7:07AM: Good morning!! :) _

 

_ 8:30AM: I hope you remembered to do your homework, mister.  _

 

_ 9:30AM: Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like your mom, lmao.  _

 

_ 10:00AM: I just want you to graduate, because I care about you, you know that right? _

 

_ 10:01AM: Didn’t mean to get all weird and serious on you.  _

 

_ 10:45AM: Have you been writing lately? _

 

_ 11:15AM: Are you sick or something? Usually you’re spamming me about Terminator by now _

 

xxx

 

Patrick has been texting Pete all day with no answer. He’s sitting at lunch with Pete’s friends, and Gabe, Gerard, Brendon, and Ryan are at the table behind them so he can turn around to talk to them. Patrick isn’t really in the mood. He’s confused, and kind of angry. 

 

Pete has been suspiciously missing the whole day and he has no idea what his deal is. Usually he has at least five texts waiting in his phone when he wakes up, especially when they’ve spent a night apart. The feeling of unease that started in the pit of his stomach as he laid awake last night starts to grow bigger, and he shifts uncomfortably.

 

He doesn’t sleep well without Pete anymore anyway, and the fact that his phone has continued to stay silent just makes his bad mood even worse. He turns to Mikey and shakily taps him on the shoulder. 

 

“What’s up, dude?” Mikey asks, taking a bite out of his apple. 

 

“Have you seen Pete today? He won’t answer my texts.” Patrick huffs, nervously dragging his fork through his food and staring moodily into Mikey’s face. 

 

“No. I don’t think he’s here. He didn’t answer my texts this morning either. Weird. I was sure if anything he would at least tell you he’s not gonna be in school today.” Mikey admits. He sees the way Patrick’s face falls and hurries to reassure him. 

 

“It’s probably nothing though. He’s fine. Maybe he stayed home sick. I’m sure he has a good reason for skipping.” 

 

Patrick nods, feeling a little sick to his stomach. 

 

“How much has Pete told you?” Patrick asks, suddenly desperate to know. 

 

“Uh, well…” Mikey grimaces. “Most of the bad stuff. Probably just about everything he told you.” 

 

“Oh.” Patrick deflates. He was hoping Mikey might have some useful information. But he does have one more question he wants to ask.

 

“Does he know how you feel about him?” Patrick whispers. Mikey freezes, then turns to look at Patrick sheepishly. 

 

“No. I think now that I’ve seen you two together I’m finally getting over it. I’d prefer if you kept this between us, okay? It’s just...embarrassing. I didn’t wanna go through the heartbreak of rejection if I can avoid it.” Mikey sighs. 

 

“Fair enough. For a guy who’s in love with Pete you’re awfully nice to me.” Patrick states, swirling a french fry through ketchup. 

 

“What will  being mean to you do for me? It won’t make anything better. Besides, you’re hard to hate.” Mikey teases, bumping shoulders with Patrick. 

 

Despite how wound up he feels about Pete, he smiles at Mikey and forces down his lunch, trying to melt into the sound of his friends familiar bickering in the background. 

 

xxx

 

_ 1:00PM: I didn’t see you at lunch >:( Where are you???  _

 

_ 2:17PM: Did I do something wrong?  _

 

_ 2:30PM: I really hope you’re not ignoring me  _

 

xxx

 

Patrick is pretty jittery by the end of the day, and kind of pissed off. He’s worried sick about Pete and the bastard can’t even fucking answer him to let him know he’s okay. He slams his way into the boys bathroom and locks himself in one of the stalls to call Pete.

 

He holds the phone up to his ear and it rings all the way to voicemail. Patrick grunts, frustrated, and kicks the wall. 

 

“Pete. It’s me. If you could do me a favor and answer your fucking phone so I know you’re not dead, that’d be great. You better not be ignoring me, or I’ll kick your ass. You’re freaking me out. Call me back.” Patrick huffs, hanging up the phone and rushing his way to rehearsal to make sure he’s not late. 

 

xxx

 

Brendon deems to show up for the final practice before the musical. Pete is still strangely absent, and Patrick feels his missing presence like a phantom limb. 

 

He forges on though, and him and Brendon get through the dance.The only thing is Patrick keeps repeatedly stepping on his toes and missing cues, not being able to focus with all his thoughts hovering around if Pete is okay or not. 

 

“What’s wrong with you today?” Brendon snaps, glaring at Patrick. If looks could kill, Patrick would be buried six feet under. 

 

Patrick feels his face flushing, opening his mouth to throw a proper tantrum, but nothing comes out aside from a near sob. Patrick covers his mouth in embarrassment and stares at Brendon while his traitorous eyes fill up with tears. 

 

“Oh, God.” Brendon says, suddenly concerned. “Please don’t cry. Seriously, what’s wrong?” Brendon asks, more genuine as he pulls Patrick aside and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. This is _ weird. _ Maybe Patrick is living in The Twilight Zone. 

 

“I have no fucking clue, that’s the problem!” Patrick explodes. He takes a deep breath, puts his head in his hands and tries again, talking through his fingers. 

 

“Pete. He’s supposed to be here and he isn’t. I’ve been texting him all day and he’s not answering me and I even tried calling him and he didn’t pick up. He went home last night and when we said goodbye he seemed perfectly fine but I just have this really bad feeling and I think I know why so I’m starting to freak out. ” Patrick sighs, long suffering. 

 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Do you want to leave early and go check on him?” Brendon replies, eyebrows furrowing. Huh. Patrick didn’t know he had a compassionate bone in his body. 

 

“No. Thank you, though. I appreciate the offer but...we’ve got to practice this scene before opening night.” Patrick groans, shoving his bangs out of his face in frustration. 

 

“Look, I know neither of us want to do this scene. Let’s just get it over with, alright? We’ve gotta make it look good for the show. You can go check on your boy right after, I swear.” Brendon promises, incredibly sincere. Patrick is struck with the strange urge to hug him. Or maybe apologize. Both could be good. 

 

Instead, he nods his head and then turns to look over his shoulder to see Ryan smiling at them. Patrick raises an eyebrow and goes to stand on his mark. 

 

They pick up from the end of the dance, going through the dialogue. 

 

“You’re...not thinking I’m someone else?” Brendon asks, bravado in full swing. Patrick tries to school his features and look up at him, doe eyed. 

 

“I know I am not.” 

 

“Or that we’ve met before?” 

 

“I know we have not.” Patrick replies. Trying to sound like he’s in awe while staring his former enemy in the face is tough. 

 

“I felt...I knew something never before was gonna happen. Had to happen. But this is so much more-” Brendon says, earnest as ever.

 

“My hands are cold.” Patrick interrupts smoothly, holding up his palms. Brendon takes his hands in his own, and Patrick adds, gently “Yours too.” 

 

Patrick brings one of his hands up to Brendon’s face and strokes his cheek.

 

“So warm.” He says, and has to resist the urge to laugh at the look Brendon gives him. A script is a script. 

 

Brendon reaches out a hand to touch Patrick’s face. 

 

“So beautiful.” He murmurs. 

 

“Beautiful.” Patrick repeats. 

 

“So much to believe.” Brendon says, reverently. “You’re not making a joke?” He continues. 

 

“I have not yet learned how to joke that way.” Patrick replies solemnly. “I think now I never will.”

 

They slowly lean into each other, until their lips meet for the barest of breaths. This is where the scene cuts and they get interrupted by Maria’s brother. 

 

Brendon smiles at him and Patrick thinks he must be hallucinating. 

 

“That wasn’t half bad, Stump.” Patrick takes a measured step back from him and snorts.

 

“Thanks. I didn’t throw up from kissing you so I consider that a success.” Patrick teases. Brendon gives him a look with absolutely no malice behind it. That’s new. 

 

“Right. Well. I’ll see you opening night. Good luck. I hope Pete’s okay.” Brendon says, and Patrick gasps. He’d almost forgotten what he’d been so worried about. 

 

“Fuck. Thanks. I have to go.” Patrick rushes out, pulling on his jacket and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

 

He’s pretty sure Pete’s phone is dead, even though he really doesn’t want to be right about this. The only choice he has is to try to sneak into his house when his parents aren’t home. He just hopes he isn’t too late.


	9. if there were any more left of me, i’d give it to you

Patrick heads directly to Pete’s house after school. He’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder and he’s planning to sneak around the side of the house to get to Pete’s bedroom window. He doesn’t think knocking on the door would get him anywhere good when both cars are parked in the driveway.

He kneels in the grass and freezes when he sees bars bolted across the window frame. It seems like desperate measures on his parents’ part, and it just makes Patrick flare up with rage.

The lights are on, which must mean Pete’s inside. He knocks against the window pane and waits. Pete pulls the blinds up and stares at him through the window in shock. His jaw clenches, and then he’s lifting up the window so he can lean closer and talk to Patrick.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Pete hisses. Patrick is unable to speak, staring at Pete’s black eye. It looks bad, swollen shut and turning blue and purple.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Patrick whispers nonsensically. “I was worried about you.” Patrick elaborates.

“I’m fine. Really.” Patrick raises his eyebrow skeptically. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re gonna get us both in trouble.” Pete frowns.

“Did your father do that to you?” Patrick asks. He knows the answer. Pete shrugs his shoulders and avoids eye contact.

“It doesn’t matter, Patrick. I can’t do this anymore.” Pete says, timid and sorrowful. Patrick aches to hold him.

“What do you mean? You’re just gonna give up? You’re gonna let them _win?”_ Patrick growls. He’s trying to salvage his broken heart, but he’s really fucking angry.

“I don’t have a choice. Not until I turn 18 at the end of the school year.” Pete sighs. “Besides. They said we’re moving again.”

Patrick reels back like he’s been slapped.

“What the fuck. Moving where?”

“California. They went through my phone, Patrick. They got suspicious when I was gone all the time. Heard rumors around the neighborhood. They know about us. I have to protect myself, do you understand?” Pete pleads.

“No. Let me protect you. Come live with me. Explain it to my mom. She’ll let you stay as long as you need.” Patrick offers, trying to sound stern and like his eyes aren’t watering.

“I don’t want your pity or your charity. I can take care of myself.” Pete spits.

“Have you looked in a mirror recently? They’re abusing you, Pete. That isn’t fucking okay. You can leave. Take my hand, please?” Patrick begs.

“I can’t.” Pete shakes his head, sounding forlorn. “They’re both home right now.”

“So I’ll come back for you tonight, while they’re sleeping. I’m not fucking abandoning you.” Patrick promises fiercely.

“Why haven’t you? Wouldn’t it be easier? Everyone leaves me. I won’t hold it against you.” Pete’s shoulders slump and he sniffles.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t care what’s easy. I want to be with you, asshole. Let me help you.” Patrick has the urge to shake Pete by the shoulders until he believes him, but he just settles on wrapping his fingers around the bars.

“I’ll think about it.” Pete huffs out a shaky breath. “I’m really scared, Trick.” Pete sounds so small. Patrick has never seen the lights in his eyes dim like that, and he hates it.

“I know. But I’ve got you, okay? I’ll come back. I promise. I’m gonna talk to my mom and then I’ll see you tonight.” Patrick says, sincere as he can be. He isn’t going to let those rotten people take Pete away. He won’t let them ruin this boy anymore than they already have.

Pete gives him a nod and a shaky goodbye, and then he’s closing his window in Patrick’s face. Patrick takes a deep breath, and then he runs all the way home.

xxx

Patrick slams the front door wide open and calls for his mom. She comes running into the living room from the kitchen, looking panicked.

“What? What is it?” She asks, nearly as out of breath as Patrick is. He leans down and puts his hands on his knees, trying to compose himself.

“This is gonna sound like a long, crazy, convoluted story but...Pete’s in trouble mom.” Patrick gasps desperately and forces himself to sit on the couch instead of pacing like he wants to.

“Oh dear. I quite like that boy. What’s wrong? What can I do to help?” Patricia asks immediately.

“It’s kind of a big favor to ask but I was wondering if he could stay here?” Patrick grimaces. “He’s not safe at home.” Patrick admits.

“Oh no. What have his parents done?” His mom asks, voice gentle.

“His father, he...Pete has a black eye. They wanna move him to California now. To get him away from me.” Patrick stutters. His chest feels tight with panic.

“Christ. That’s horrible, honey. Why do they want him to stay away from you?” She inquires, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well. Because we’re in a relationship, me and Pete. They don’t really accept him for who he is. They sent him to a camp and everything. It’s despicable.” Patrick frowns down at his shoes. This isn’t his first coming out to his mother, she’s pretty much always known, but she didn’t know about the Pete part.

“I can’t imagine someone being able to do that to their child. It’s just... _wrong._ That poor boy. Of course he can stay here, dear. As long as he needs.”

“Really? Oh God, thank you so much.” Patrick is practically knocked backwards by the wave of relief that overcomes him.

“I just want to protect him. He doesn’t deserve all this.” He moves forward and sweeps his mom up in a full body hug, sinking into her comforting embrace.

“No, baby. He really doesn’t. Can I ask you a question?” His mom whispers, rubbing his back in a soothing gesture. Patrick nods, a little reluctantly.

“Do you love him?” Patrick is silent for a moment, though he already knows the answer.

“Very much.” He admits, softly.

“And does he love you back?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to think so.” Patrick bites his lip and turns his head to meet his mother’s eyes.

“How could he not? I’m so happy for you, sweetheart. He’s so charming, and awfully handsome. You’re lucky to have each other.” Patricia beams at him, making him blush. If only his mother knew the real Pete. He’s a bit of a menace.

“I have to go get him tonight, but there’s one more problem.” Patrick groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“What do you need?”

“Uh. Locking pliers and a flat head screwdriver?” Patrick replies sheepishly. His mother raises her eyebrows in trepidation. “There’s bars on his window. I did some googling on how to remove them.”

“Jesus. That seems extreme. But I’m sure your father won’t mind if you go look through the tool box in the garage. Just make sure you bring everything back in one piece. Pete, especially.” She nods at him with a concerned look, her mouth settling in a firm line.

“That’s the plan.” Patrick nods to himself, determined. He can do this.

xxx

With the tools firmly tucked into his backpack, he makes the dreaded walk to Pete’s house in the dark. He’s also got a flashlight, so he can see what he’s doing. No one can ever say he came unprepared.

Patrick throws a few pebbles at Pete’s window and waits. He watches the lights flicker on, and then Pete is lifting the window open and staring at him with bleary, scared eyes, shoulders curled in and hands shaking just the tiniest bit.

“Hey. It’s alright. Just hold on. I’ve never done this before, but I’m gonna get rid of these bars. You gotta trust me.” Patrick says. Pete curls his fingers around the bars and frowns at him, but doesn’t say anything.

When Patrick gets out the locking pliers and starts loosening the screws, their knuckles brush. Patrick can feel the adrenaline kick in, the fear of being caught, praying this won’t be too noisy.

 

After several minutes, Patrick has gotten out all the screws and now all that’s left is the bolts. He takes out the screw driver and gets to work.

“You really don’t have to do this.” Pete speaks, finally.

“I really do. My mom already agreed to you staying with us, by the way. So there’s no backing out now.” Patrick replies, fake cheerful. He puts his tongue between his teeth in concentration and pries one bolt off.

“What about when they come looking for me?” Pete asks, stubborn as always.

“We’ll do what we have to. Hide you. Report them. Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Patrick shrugs, getting rid of another bolt and feeling the frame start to loosen. He does the next few in quick succession with no protest from Pete.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt in the midst of all this. It isn’t your problem.” Pete sighs, defeated.

“I’m making it my problem. I lo- I care about you so much. Please, just take it.” Patrick begs, brushing past that little hiccup and hoping Pete doesn’t notice.

He gets rid of the last bolt and zips the tools back into his bag. He takes a deep breath and grabs onto the bars with both hands. He pulls as hard as he can, and they come out of the frame with a bit of scraping and groaning.

 

Patrick is impressed by the fact he managed to do it at all. He lets the bars fall to the ground and wipes his hands off on his jeans before offering one to Pete.

Pete looks at him, tilting his head in consideration, eyes cloudy and hesitant. He takes Patrick’s hand.

xxx

The way back to Patrick’s house is different than usual. It almost feels daunting in the dark, like someone could catch them running off together any minute.

But it also sends a thrill up Patrick’s spine. Running with Pete’s hand in his and dragging him along is almost playful. Like they’re school boys chasing each other on a playground. It’s easier to pretend in the dark, when he can’t see the way Pete’s face has been bruised.

The moon hangs high in the sky, pooling silver against Pete’s collarbones and making his smile shine. Patrick’s chest fills with warmth, relief that maybe things will be okay after all.

Pete stops a few feet away from Patrick’s front door and pulls him back by the hand.

“I always feel like you’re saving me.” Pete admits breathlessly, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Is that a bad thing?” Patrick inquires, biting his lip and gravitating hopelessly closer into Pete’s orbit. He steps closer into Pete’s space and grins at him a little bit.

“No. Of course not. It’s just...” Pete trails off, soft and hesitant. He looks smaller in the moonlight, shadows flickering over his shoulders curling inwards. “You won’t always be there to save me, Trick. Someday I’m gonna have to learn how to save myself.”

“You’ll be ready when that day comes though. Everyone needs help sometimes, Pete. It’s okay to rely on people.” Patrick replies. He won’t apologize for saving Pete. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. Pete tries to smile at him but it turns into more of a grimace, his shoulders slumping.

“We should go inside. It’s getting late, and I’m sure your mom will have some questions for me.” Pete deflects, pulling Patrick behind him and up to the door.

Patrick doesn’t bother digging his keys out of his pocket, because he made sure to tell his mother to leave the door unlocked when he left on his rescue mission.

They take off their jackets and shoes before Patrick leads Pete into the kitchen where his mother is sitting with a cup of tea between her palms. She looks tired and gaunt in the dim fluorescent lighting.

Patrick feels bad for keeping her awake and making her worry. But he supposes it’s better than lying to her about it. Some people are worth telling the truth for.

Patrick pulls out a chair for Pete and takes the seat between the two of them before leaning his elbows on the table and waiting for someone to speak. After a pregnant pause, his mother speaks.

“Hi, boys. I’m glad to see you made it back safely.”

“That’s relative. I’m surprised I didn’t have an asthma attack.” Patrick jokes.

“Did you even bring your inhaler?” Pete asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern. His mother is giving him a very similar stare. He looks back and forth between them in disbelief.

“No. You’re worried about _me?_ This isn’t even about me!” Patrick splutters. Pete shakes his head fondly, and his mom looks about ready to slap him on the back of the head. It feels weirdly normal.

“I don’t want to pry, Peter. My son already told me the short version of the story, and I’m happy you’re okay. But we should probably make an action plan, in case things go bad.” Patricia says softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand over Pete’s. “Can I get you anything to make you feel better? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Pete replies, quiet and withdrawn as he sinks further into his hoodie and pulls the sleeves down over his hands. “I really don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense.” His mom says, waving her hand as if to dismiss Pete’s words. “This is your home now, dear. We want you to feel comfortable.”

“And safe.” Patrick adds. Pete gives him a little smile, and then he seems to set his face into a look of determination.

“So worst case scenario is my parents showing up on your doorstep. What will we do if that happens?” Pete asks, trying to keep his voice even despite the fact his whole body is trembling.

“You can hide. The basement is probably your safest bet, but if either of them show up here I won’t let them inside the house at all. I’ll talk to them, try to convince them you aren’t here.” Patricia reassures.

“What if that doesn’t work?” Pete hums.

“Well. It’d be a last resort, but...if they keep coming to look for you we can always report them to Child Protective Services. Only if that’s okay with you, though.” Patrick says, swallowing hard. Pete’s face scrunches up. He’s so pale he might as well be a ghost.

“It’s okay with me. I’m just not really sure what that would entail.” Pete sighs, hiding his shaking hands in his lap. Patrick notices and grabs one of them, bringing both their hands up to his mouth and placing a warm kiss on Pete’s knuckles. Pete looks over and his eyes soften, his face relaxing a little bit.

“Nothing you can’t handle, sweetheart. Let me get you something to put on that eye to bring down the swelling, and then you two should get some rest.” Patricia coos. Patrick is enjoying this immensely, because for once she’s not doing it to him. The pinching of the cheeks gets a little old.

“Thanks.” Pete chuckles half-heartedly and takes the bag of frozen peas from his mom. “Sorry you had to sacrifice your groceries. It’s for a good cause, I swear.”

“It’s no problem, dear. Now run along upstairs and let Patrick tuck you in.” Patricia teases, her eyes twinkling. Patrick flushes and decides it’s best to keep his mouth shut.

Pete follows Patrick up the stairs and all the way to his room. Patrick groans in satisfaction when he can finally throw his backpack on the floor and roll out his shoulders.

In his rush to leave, Pete only seemed to grab his phone and his notebook, but he swears it’s all he needs. To be fair, he has a lot of clothes strewn across Patrick’s room that are his already.

“Shit. I forgot my charger.” Pete groans, flopping down on the bed in defeat with the bag of peas dripping down his neck and onto the fabric of his hoodie.

“It’s alright. You can use mine. Give it here.” Patrick says, holding out his hand to take Pete’s phone and plug it into the wall by the nightstand.

“You’re an angel, you know that?” Pete replies dreamily.

“Sure I am.” Patrick snorts.

“Seriously. How do you fit those wings through the door?” Pete croons, leaning up on his elbows and letting the bag of peas fall onto his stomach.

“You’re insufferable.” Patrick deadpans, laying down on the bed next to Pete and grabbing the bag off his stomach. He turns Pete’s face back towards him by his chin and places the cold compress back over his swollen eye. Pete hisses through his teeth and grabs Patrick’s free hand in his.

“Guilty.” Pete sighs, rolling onto his side and scooting closer into Patrick’s space. He pulls Patrick’s arm until it drapes over his waist.

“So when are you gonna sing for me?” Pete asks, looking earnestly at Patrick with his hot whiskey eyes. What is he supposed to do, say no?

“Now, if you want. I did promise you I’d sing one of _your_ songs after our date. Choose wisely.” Patrick laughs. Pete beams at him, and pulls the tattered notebook out of his hoodie pocket and starts flipping through pages frantically until he finds what he’s looking for.

Pete hands it to him, seemingly nervous, and Patrick raises an eyebrow at him.

“Guitar or acapella? Pick your poison.” Patrick squints down at the page and tries to make out Pete’s chicken scratch. _It’s Not A Side Effect Of The Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love._

Patrick’s heart starts to race, and suddenly he thinks he understands why Pete is so nervous for him to read this, for him to sing it back to him.

“Definitely just your voice.” Pete whispers. Patrick sits up so he can read from the paper properly, but he keeps a hand on Pete’s thigh. He opens his mouth to sing, goosebumps already rising on his skin. He’s going to remember this night for the rest of his life, he’s sure of it.

_Why can you read me like no one else?_

_I hide behind these words_

_But I'm coming out_

_I wish I kept them behind my tongue_

_I hide behind these words_

_But I'm coming out_

__  
  


_Put your hand between_

_An aching head and an aching world_

_We'll make them so jealous_

_We'll make them hate us_

_An aching head and an aching world_

_We'll make them so jealous_

_We'll make them so jealous_

__  
  


_All the ways you make my stomach turn_

_And all the long drives_

_With my friends blur_

_And I wish I kept them inside my mind_

_I hide behind these words_

_And think of all the places_

_Where you've been lost_

_And then found...out_

_In between my sheets_

_In between the rights and the wrongs_

__  
  


_Put your hand between_

_An aching head and an aching world_

_We'll make them so jealous_

_We'll make them hate us_

_Aching head and an aching world_

_Think of all the places_

_Where you've been lost and found...out_

__  
  


When he’s done singing, Patrick takes a deep breath and says, nonsensically and always terrible with his timing: “The title. That’s from a Bowie song.”

Pete stares at him for a moment, still lost in his reverie, and then he throws his head back and laughs.

“Yes. _Station to Station._ I had a feeling you’d like that.” Pete grins, deciding he’s had enough with the melting bag of peas and dropping them on the floor.

“You know how much I love Bowie. A man after my own heart.” Patrick giggles, barely refraining from swooning.

“You got it in one.” Pete admits fondly.

Patrick feels like his heart is about to tattoo his ribs it’s pounding so hard.

“After you showed me that song, let me sing your words, I feel like I owe you something in return.” Patrick takes a deep breath. “Something I should’ve said a long time ago, probably.”

“Yes?” Pete smiles at him, sheepish now with a flush on his cheeks, like he knows what’s coming. Patrick is sure it’s been written all over his face for months.

“I love you, Pete. I’m _in_ love with you.” Patrick says in a rush, breathless with the confession. God, it feels good to get off his chest. It rings true through the air between them, makes it crackle. Pete doesn’t react the way Patrick expected.

He seems to crumple in on himself, and then he buries his face in the pillow and starts crying.

“I’m sorry.” Pete sobs, voice muffled by fabric. “I don’t mean to ruin this moment. But no one has ever said that to me and actually meant it.” Pete sniffles. Patrick’s heart breaks once more. He pulls Pete in against his chest and pets his hair.

“It’s okay. You can talk to me.” Patrick soothes, placing his chin on top of Pete’s head.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you. But there’s still things I haven’t told you and I’m afraid you’ll change your mind about me.” Pete mumbles into the skin of Patrick’s neck.

“That’s impossible. Nothing you could ever say would make me leave you.” Patrick says fiercely.

“You’ve seen the scars I tried to cover up. Before I met you I was a very angry, miserable person. Some days I still feel like that. I can’t help it really. Things with my parents made it much worse. I felt like I was a black hole sucking the light out of everything and everyone I touched. I’m bipolar.” Pete admits, his hot tears running down Patrick’s neck.

“Oh.” Patrick replies, a lot of pieces suddenly fitting together. “That explains a lot.”

“Yeah. My behavior can be erratic at times. Very manic, High highs and low lows. I can’t really control it. I was on meds for a while but my parents stopped letting me see my psychiatrist and then I just progressively got more angry at the world.” Pete pulls back to look up at Patrick.

Patrick wipes the tears off his face and tries to say anything to make it stop.

“I can help you. Find a new doctor and some meds. Whatever you want. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.” Patrick presses a kiss to Pete’s cheek. Pete smiles at him, a little watery.

“God, that’s a relief. I’ve been holding that in for so long.” Pete puts his chin on Patrick’s chest and blinks up at him.

“Anything else you’ve been holding in for a while?” Patrick coaxes him, running a hand between Pete’s shoulder blades.

“I love you in forever ways.” Pete says it with purpose, a reverence and tenderness that Patrick can’t fully understand with words alone. Patrick smiles up at him, full of sunshine. Pete straddles his hips and leans down until their chests are pressed together, until they’re sharing oxygen.

Pete kisses him, and it feels like his heart bursts wide open.

Things seem to get heavier and lighter at the same time. Patrick wants to take this slow with Pete, doesn’t want to scare him away. Their lips pull apart with a pop.

“Tell me what you want.” Patrick pants, his hands clutching at the back of Pete’s neck and his jaw. Pete looks up at him from under his eyelashes, coy as ever.

“Everything.” Pete replies, biting his lip. “Contrary to popular belief, I have done this before. That’s sort of how I got in trouble with my parents in the first place.”

“Oh.” Patrick exhales a sigh of relief. That takes a lot of pressure off of him to make Pete’s first time perfect. “I haven’t. I mean-“ Patrick stutters, flushing as Pete grins at him, amused.

“I’ve done other stuff but...not _that._ I wanted to wait for the right person.” Patrick admits, unable to meet Pete’s eyes until his chin is tilted upwards by Pete’s fingers.

“That’s very sweet of you. It’s one of the reasons I love you, actually. You sap.” Pete chuckles, and pecks him on the lips gently.

“You should talk.” Patrick mutters, still a little embarrassed. Pete shrugs, his eyes twinkling.

“I can’t help myself.” Pete beams, and then he raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Patrick before he pulls back enough to lift his hoodie and his shirt over his head in one fell swoop.

“Please tell me you have lube and condoms. Preferably somewhere nearby.” Pete says, but Patrick isn’t really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth now.

He’s too busy staring at the tantalizing golden skin in front of him, covered in dark ink and looking simultaneously soft and toned in the lamp light. He lets his eyes trail over Pete’s biceps and licks his lips.

Pete snaps his fingers and Patrick jolts abruptly back into reality.

“What?” Patrick squeaks, his face flushing again.

“Lube. And condoms. Do you have them?” Pete laughs, sounding a little hysterical.

“Oh. Shit. Yeah, I do. Hold on.” Patrick rolls over and pulls open the top drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom and the bottle of lube. He sets them on the bed and then gestures for Pete to lay down on his back.

“Will it be okay like this? I wanna see your face.” Patrick bites down on his bottom lip, suddenly nervous. He gets himself situated between Pete’s thighs and Pete doesn’t bother with a verbal response, he just spreads his legs in invitation and starts pulling down his pants.

Patrick helps get them off his ankles and tosses them onto the floor. His boxers come next. Patrick feels a little self conscious next to someone like Pete, but he knows they won’t get anywhere unless he gets naked.

He’s tempted to turn the lights off, but it’s worth it for the look on Pete’s face once Patrick is completely bare. Patrick feels a shiver roll down his spine and Pete’s warm, amber gaze burns against his skin and pins him in place.

He crawls across the bed and lets Pete trail his hands up Patrick’s back and down his arms and wherever else his heart desires.

“You’re beautiful. Even prettier than I imagined.” Pete says it tenderly, leaning his forehead against Patrick’s and connecting their lips together once more.

Patrick lets Pete part his lips open, and then his tongue is pushing against the roof of Pete’s mouth and it feels like he’s swallowed a bottled star.

Pete presses the lube into Patrick’s hand and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before placing a pillow under his hips and settling back against the headboard.

Patrick smiles at him, a little hesitant. He drizzles the lube on his fingers and rubs them together until it’s body temperature.

He leans down and presses a kiss to Pete’s inner thigh before he slides his fingers down to Pete’s rim and rubs against the opening.

Pete whines, high in the back of his throat, but he keeps his eyes open and watches him. Patrick marvels at the way Pete’s eyes are dilated, full of desire and love and gone so black there’s only a ring of brown left.

He gently pushes forwards until his finger is inside Pete up to the knuckle. Pete’s face scrunches up at the intrusion but after a couple of minutes his body seems to relax and try to pull Patrick into his wet, tight warmth.

Patrick’s free hand remains against Pete’s thigh, feeling the muscles twitch with every ministration. Pete’s legs are to die for.

He slides a second finger inside of Pete and curls them upwards in hopes of finding his prostate. It takes Patrick a few minutes, but eventually he touches him just right and Pete keens and his back arches beautifully.

Patrick grins at Pete wolfishly and sucks a mark into the middle of the bartskull.

“Ah! More, baby, please.” Pete begs, his voice sounding broken. Patrick melts at Pete calling him _baby,_ never imagined in a million years how something so insignificant could make him so overwhelmed with affection.

Patrick adds a third finger and starts twisting his wrist, until Pete’s walls clench against him and a sheen of sweat covers his body, the tendons in his neck standing out starkly with the way he’s gritting his teeth against the pleasure in an attempt to hold himself back.

“If you don’t stop now this is going to be over very quickly.” Pete says breathlessly, his chest rising and falling shallowly. Patrick slows his movements and carefully withdraws his fingers.

Pete groans at the loss, but he sits up in order to steal the condom from Patrick’s sticky fingers and put it on him.

“Thanks.” Patrick inhales sharply at Pete’s touch.

“My pleasure.” Pete winks, and then he’s lying back and giving Patrick a look he thinks should be illegal.

Patrick slicks himself up and then he lowers himself on top of Pete gently, pressing their mouths together when he guides his dick inside of Pete slowly.

“Oh.” Pete gasps, wrapping his legs around Patrick tightly and planting his feet into Patrick’s lower back. Pete’s hands are tracing his face gently.

Patrick grunts once he’s buried to the hilt inside Pete, and he’s sure he’s red from his face all the way down to his chest. After he’s given Pete a minute to adjust to the feeling, he starts thrusting, slow and deep.

“You sure you’ve never done this before? I swear your hips are like fucking _magic.”_ Pete moans, and Patrick nearly loses it right then.

He closes his eyes and grips Pete’s hips tightly, pulling him down onto Patrick’s cock, increasing the pace.

Patrick never thought in a million years that someone like Pete Wentz could ever want him in this way, let alone love him, flaws and all. He kind of wants to cry with joy.

“I love you.” Patrick groans out, wants to say it again and again until the Earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away.

“I love you more, ‘Trick.” Pete insists, sucking in a breath when Patrick hits his spot just right. Patrick shakes his head, doesn’t have enough breath to do anything but growl from deep within his chest. He’s on fire, he’s aching with need.

Pete stares up at him, wide eyed, and then demands: “Do that again.”

Patrick does, letting loose all of his noises, completely uninhibited as he ravishes Pete. He feels Pete’s neglected dick, hard and leaking against his stomach.

Before he can think to grab it to give Pete some relief, Pete decides to tug on one of Patrick’s nipples with his teeth. Patrick cries out and starts trembling with the feeling of pleasure and pain mixing together.

Pete looks up at him through his bangs devilishly, and then he slides his hands down Patrick’s spine until he can squeeze his ass and urge him onwards.

Patrick bites his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood, circling his hips until he has Pete writhing and crying out his name desperately.

“Touch me, please, sweetheart.” Pete pleads, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Patrick can’t say no, not when Pete is painting such a pretty, convincing picture.

He wraps his hand around Pete’s dick and strokes in time with his hips.

“Fuck, that’s it, Tricky.” Pete shrieks, and then he’s striping white, gossamer strands of come between them. Patrick watches the way his face contorts in ecstasy, the way he giggles through the aftershocks.

Patrick has never been happier, inside this boy he loves, as close to him as he could ever be, covered in sweat and come.

Pete clenches around him and tells him to come inside of him. Patrick’s mouth falls open at the prospect, chasing his own orgasm until it knocks the wind out of him and he’s so loud he worries his mother may hear him from downstairs.

Patrick carefully pulls out when he can breathe again, and rolls off Pete’s body until he’s laying beside him. He pulls the comforter up and over them and guides Pete away from the wet spot.

“You didn’t tell me you were an animal in the sack, Lunchbox.” Pete teases. Patrick is tempted to shove him out of the bed. He settled for poking Pete in the cheek and ruffling his hair before cuddling up to him and tucking his face into Pete’s neck.

“You’re warm,” Patrick slurs, utterly spent from the day’s events. Pete laughs and Patrick feels the vibration more than hears it.

His hands are curled against Pete’s ribs and he can feel the faint fluttering of his heart.

“Go to sleep, honey. I’ll be here in the morning.” Pete soothes, rubbing Patrick’s back.

Patrick presses a sloppy kiss to Pete’s collarbone and lets his heartbeat lull him into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope the length of this chapter makes up for the wait. stay tuned. up next: the final conflict and the musical. the show must go on! :) 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob. comments and kudos make my world go round.
> 
> chapter title from heaven’s gate by fob 
> 
> p.s if you happen to catch both one tree hill references in this chapter.....be my new best friend.


	10. my heart is like a stallion they love it more when its broken

The following day Patrick drags Pete out of the house and down the street to the ice cream shop to take his mind off the bad things that seem to plague him. It seems like a black cloud is hovering over Pete’s head again, like when they first met. Patrick has not missed that look on his face.

 

They share a banana split and Patrick tangles their legs together under the table. Pete stares into space, morose as ever. 

 

“Hey,” Patrick says gently, trying to reassure him with a squeeze to his hand. Pete looks up at him, defeated. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. Try to relax.” 

 

“But they’re totally gonna come looking for me and try to drag my ass to California with them.” Pete groans. 

 

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t let them. I’ll protect you, and so will my parents.” Patrick gives him a tiny smile, trying to be encouraging. 

 

“I feel like I’m being adopted. It’s kind of fucked up to be dating my step-brother, isn’t it?” Pete jokes. Patrick laughs, and kicks him lightly in the shin. It’s more of a love tap than anything else. 

 

“Shut up. We aren’t adopting you. Speaking of the future...what are your plans after graduation?” Patrick asks, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him. He’s a little nervous for Pete’s answer. He doesn’t want Pete to leave. 

 

“I got accepted to go to Depaul, actually. I think going to college will be good for me. Also, it’s not too far away but...if your mom wants I can move into the dorms there and get out of your hair.” Pete chuckles, wringing his hands together anxiously. 

 

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you staying here on the weekends. But I can always come visit you at the dorms.” Patrick replies tenderly. His heart feels warm and fuzzy in his chest. Like it’s made of cotton candy. Pete gives him the first real smile of the day. 

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Pete mumbles through a mouthful of ice cream. “Let’s go home, Trickster.” 

 

xxx

 

Pete and Patrick are tangled up in bed together, listening to Patrick’s record collection and whispering to each other, when he distinctly hears his mother’s raised voice. 

 

Patrick and Pete both look at each other, frozen in terror for a moment. Patrick gets up from the bed, heart pounding, and takes the needle off the record so the room is quiet enough to hear what’s going on downstairs.

 

They both creep towards his bedroom door and crack it open until they can hear what’s going on.

 

“-your son isn’t here. Even if he was, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you. That boy deserves much better than the way you people treat him. You should be ashamed of yourselves.” Patricia sounds venomous, in a fake, cheery sort of way. Pete grimaces.

 

Patrick forgot how much of a badass his mom can be. He loves her fiercely. 

 

“How dare you tell us how to raise our son.” Pete’s mother fumes. His father stays eerily silent. 

 

“Shipping him off to California won’t change the fact that he’s gay, you know.” Patricia spits back. 

 

“That’s not for you to decide. Who do you think you are?” Pete’s dad booms. 

 

“Someone that actually cares about him and accepts him for who he is. I know what you’ve done to him. And we don’t tolerate that kind of shit around here. So get off my property immediately or I’m calling the cops.” Patrick knows that his mother won’t go through with that threat, but  _ they _ don’t know that. His mother sounds menacing. 

 

Patrick can’t see their faces, but he imagines Pete’s parents are furious, faces red and speechless. Patrick doesn’t hear anymore talking, and the silence is only intercepted by his mom slamming the front door shut and locking it. 

 

Patrick looks back at Pete in the doorway and nearly crumbles when he sees the tears in his eyes. 

 

“Are you alright?” Patrick asks, reaching out for Pete. 

 

“No. But I will be.” Pete shakes his head, and then he’s running down the stairs with Patrick hot on his heels. 

 

Once Patrick catches up, he finds his mother hugging Pete in the living room and petting his hair. Despite the circumstances, Patrick’s heart aches fondly at the sight of them. Two people he loves, who have grown to love each other. A real mother. Pete has never had one of those before. 

 

Patrick steps forward and wraps his arms around both of them. Upstairs, Pete’s phone buzzes with texts and phone calls he won’t bother returning. His parents are leaving town for good tomorrow. They’ll be going without him. 

 

Pete’s home is right here, with these people. His chosen family. There’s no place he’d rather be. 

 

xxx

 

The next night Pete and Patrick are standing backstage, Patrick nervously pacing and his parents out in the audience behind that curtain. 

 

Pete’s dressed to the nines, in a tuxedo he rented for the occasion and his hair artfully falling over his brow. His eyeliner is in full force and he’s wearing a bow tie. Patrick desperately wants to pull him close and distract himself from the stage fright. 

 

The entire cast of their friends are in a flurry all around them, talking and fixing their hair, makeup, costumes, going over dance moves. Patrick stands in front of the mirror with Pete behind him and experiences deja vu so visceral it’s practically whiplash. He remembers Pete telling him how good he looked in a dress and in spite of his nerves, he smiles. 

 

Pete rubs soothingly at his shoulders and turns him around to peck him on the lips and wish him luck. He takes a deep breath and gets into position. Pete makes it back down the aisle of the auditorium to his seat next to Patrick’s parents and takes the bundle of flowers off his seat so he can sit down and set them down on his lap. 

 

Pete makes pleasant conversation with Patricia and David and then the curtain goes up and the applause begins.

 

It’s weird to see how well Patrick and Brendon play off each other. They’re good at pretending to be in love. It makes Pete’s skin itch, but it looks as if they’re having fun. He’s mostly fine until the kiss scene happens. He’ll never be happy about anyone kissing his Patrick. 

 

But he puts on a brave face and he gasps and claps and smiles at all the right times. Near the end, he starts tearing up a little. Patrick’s mom hands him a tissue and he wipes at his ruined eyeliner streaked face. 

 

Pete stands up for the ovation like everyone else, clapping and whistling  as obnoxiously as possible. Patrick’s eyes meet his when he takes the final bow and all he can do is beam. His boyfriend is so fucking talented, he shines. 

 

Pete heads backstage once more when the curtain is down and everyone is changing back into their normal clothes and wiping off their makeup. He finds Patrick in disarray at one of the vanity tables, his jeans half up his legs and his hair a mess from how quickly he pulled his shirt over his head. 

 

Pete laughs and hides the flowers behind his back. 

 

“Don’t make fun of me.” Patrick pouts. God, he’s pretty. Pete is so lucky. 

 

“I’m not, I swear. You were incredible. Finish getting dressed so we can go out for dinner with your parents.” Pete tsks. Patrick rolls his eyes, his cheeks flushed with exertion and his lips tipping up into a smile. He buttons and zips his jeans, smooths out his hair and puts his hat on, and then slides his leather jacket on to brace the cold. 

 

“Where are we going?” Patrick asks, leaning into Pete’s side and wrapping an arm around his waist. 

 

“Your parents picked the restaurant, so I have no idea. But here. These are for you.” Pete says, holding out the bouquet of red roses. Cheesy? Maybe. But they’re classic. They express exactly what Pete feels when he looks at this golden, magical boy. 

 

“Oh.” Patrick’s eyes light up with joy. “They’re beautiful, Pete. Thank you.” Patrick beams, and leans down to smell them. He looks smitten. Patrick presses a kiss to Pete’s cheek and lets him lead him out of the auditorium with his parents. 

 

Sitting in a fancy restaurant with the love of his life and his family feels good. Pete feels whole for the first time in his life. Complete. Loved and wanted in a way that isn’t conditional. It is pure in it’s simplicity. It is soft and kind and everything that he believes he deserves. Pete can finally have it. 


	11. what a match

**10 years later**

 

Pete is laying on the couch, far too warm and content to move. Patrick’s head is on his chest and his little pomeranian, Penny, is curled up by their feet. Pete’s become awfully fond of the little fluff ball. Her personality weirdly resembles Patrick’s own. 

 

Patrick’s parents have the kids for the day, so they really should be out running errands, like, buying Christmas gifts for instance. Pete could even be doing more productive things, like writing his new novel so he’s actually in time for the deadline. 

 

But that doesn’t satisfy him down to his bones the way being with Patrick does. They’re somewhere between awake and asleep, full of post-coital bliss. Pete’s still naked, but Patrick is wearing his t-shirt and a pair of boxers. 

 

Patrick forces him out of his happy place by flicking him on the nipple.

 

“Ow!” Pete whines over-dramatically and rubs at his chest petulantly. 

 

“We need to get up. Christmas shopping. For the kids, and my parents, and our friends, remember them?” Patrick demands. 

 

“But I’m so comfy.” Pete grumbles. Patrick lifts his arms above his head and stretches. He clicks his tongue at Pete and then rolls off of him and onto his feet beside the couch. Penny jerks awake at the movement, jumping to run between Patrick’s ankles and trip him up with her tail and her barks. 

 

Patrick stifles a laugh and picks her up, holding her close to his chest like a baby and petting her head. She looks up at him and pants happily before licking his nose. 

 

Pete, eyes half lidded, smiles up at them. Patrick disappears into the kitchen to make breakfast. Pete forces himself up into a sitting position and reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already gone cold. He makes a face at the taste and manages to stand up on wobbly legs to follow Patrick into the kitchen and stick his cup into the microwave. 

 

Pete presses a few buttons on the microwave and watches the cup go through the rotation. Patrick comes up behind him and kisses him on the shoulder, wrapping his arms around Pete’s hips. He’s always grumpy before he’s nice in the morning. Semi-sweet. 

 

Pete places his arms on top of Patrick’s, watches the way their wedding rings gleam in the early morning sunshine coming through the window. 

 

“You should get dressed.” Patrick murmurs into the back of his neck. 

 

“If I must.” Pete sighs, forlornly, and then drags his feet all the way to the bedroom with his piping hot cup of coffee burning the back of his throat.   

 

Penny yips at them from the floor as they eat breakfast together, a bagel for Patrick and a bowl of cereal for Pete. 

 

“Sorry, Pen. No human food for you.” Patrick scolds her gently. 

 

“Get your own.” Pete says around a mouthful of Cap’n Crunch. Patrick gives him a glare with no heat behind it. Pete swallows his food and gets up to rinse his bowl out in the sink. Patrick wipes his hands off on his jeans and then gets up to put his hat and jacket on. Once they’re both bundled up, they head outside to Pete’s Jeep. 

 

They drive to the store to look for gifts for Patrick’s parents first, a clothing place. Pete parks the car and shuts it off before leading Patrick inside by the hand. He wants to get this over as quickly as possible so they can go back home where it’s warm and quiet for a little while. 

 

Patrick looks through the racks of women’s coats for his mother, because she kept saying she needed a new one for the season. Pete stands on the other side of the rack and holds up different brightly colored ones. Patrick makes an exasperated face at him, and sticks more the the boring, plainly colored options. 

 

Pete gets jittery easily in places like this. Department stores make his anxiety go a little haywire. He bounces on the balls of his feet and he’s practically breathing down Patrick’s neck before he snaps at him.

 

“Would you go stand somewhere else for a minute? You’re making  _ me _ anxious.” Patrick huffs. Pete nods, backing off and feeling like a kicked puppy. He knows that sometimes Patrick needs his space. Especially when he’s trying to concentrate on something. 

 

Pete finds himself looking at sweaters in the men’s section, ugly Christmas ones to be exact, and is considering buying one for himself when he spots a familiar head of dark hair. 

 

He still recognizes her perfume. It’s his mother. He freezes up, completely paralyzed as he watches her make her way down the aisle towards him. He doesn’t have enough time to run or hide, just holds his breath as he waits for her to meet his eyes. 

 

She looks up and Pete feels like crying. He hasn’t seen his mother since the day his father gave him a black eye. He doesn’t know what to do. He watches her give him a pleading look, tilting her head at him consideringly before walking up to him until they’re only a few inches apart. 

 

“Peter,” Dale sighs, holding her arms open as if this is a normal occurrence. Pete doesn’t remember the last time he talked to anyone he was blood related to, let alone hugged them. Before he can say anything, or decide to walk away, she’s leaning forwards and pulling him into her chest and squeezing him tightly. 

 

Pete doesn’t hug her back, he can’t, but he lets it happen. He feels the tears stinging his eyes and he doesn’t fight them. Dale pulls back and holds Pete by the forearms to get a good look at him. 

 

“You look well. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry for everything that happened. I know you might not forgive me, and that’s okay if you can’t. But I’d like to know my son.” Dale says, the most sincere he’s ever heard her be. His heart feels like it’s about to shatter. 

 

“Where’s Dad?” Pete asks, numbly, stupidly. Of all the things he could say to her, that’s what his brain chooses. 

 

“We got divorced. After he...hit you. We moved to California together and then I filed for it. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I moved back to Chicago a few years ago in the hopes that I’d see you.” Dale looks at him hopefully, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Pete doesn’t want to be cruel, even though that’s exactly what she and his father were to him. 

 

“I don’t know if I can forgive you. Not unless you’re...willing to accept me for who I am.” Pete gets out through the sobs wracking his body. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation in the middle of a clothing store. A public meltdown. Merry fucking Christmas. 

 

“Oh, honey. Of course I am. I’m so sorry for everything we put you through. I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” His mother apologizes. Pete pulls her in for the hug this time, tucks his chin over her shoulder and feels like a little boy again. 

 

When they pull apart this time, she holds Pete’s hands in hers and she seems to zero in on the ring on his finger. 

 

“When did you get married?” She asks, sounding heartbroken. Pete hadn’t bothered to invite her, he didn’t think she would’ve came. 

 

“Five years ago. Do you want to meet him?” Pete asks, his heart pounding. Dale nods, her eyes glittering with regret. He leads her through the store until they’re standing in front of a distracted, and very disgruntled, Patrick Stump. 

 

“I think maybe she’ll like this. Do you think purple is her color?” Patrick asks. 

 

Pete clears his throat, and Patrick looks up to see him with his mother standing in front of him and is so startled he drops the jacket on the floor with a thud.

 

Patrick’s face hardens when he sees her, his jaw tensing. He’s prepared to spit fire, but Pete gives him a look and shakes his head. Patrick deflates and holds out his hand.

 

“Mrs. Wentz. Nice to meet you again.” Patrick gets out through gritted teeth. 

 

“Just Miss Wentz, dear. I’m sorry to you, too. I didn’t have Pete’s best interests at heart when we met back then. But I do now. Thank you for taking care of him. You make a lovely couple.” Dale shakes his hand and pulls him into a hug. Patrick smiles hesitantly at Pete over her shoulder.

 

From there, they make small talk, Pete catching her up to speed on his life with Patrick. It’s something he always wanted but never knew he could have. He holds one of Patrick’s hands and one of his mother’s as they walk out of the store with their gift bags. 

 

Out in the parking lot, Pete is high on happiness and hope when he says “How would you feel about meeting your grandkids?” 

 

Patrick looks at him, wide eyed with shock. He must think it’s far too soon for such a big step. Pete is reckless, stupid, and absolutely a late bloomer when it comes to being a mama’s boy. But if he’s going to give her a chance, he might as well let her see everything she’s been missing. 

 

“You have kids?” Dale shrieks, utterly surprised and simultaneously delighted. 

 

“Of course. We also have a puppy at home.” Pete laughs. 

 

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, sweetheart. I’m so excited to meet them. I can’t believe I’m a grandma.” Dale says.

 

Pete beams and Patrick can tell the weight Pete has been carrying for the last decade has been lifted off his shoulders.

 

“How about you come over for Christmas next week?” Patrick suggests gently. 

 

“I’d love to.” Dale nods, and Pete and Patrick bid her goodbye with kisses on the cheek and hugs and promises. 

 

When Pete is sitting in the car, alone with Patrick once more, he can’t stop grinning.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Patrick asks softly. 

 

“No. But I have you, and you’re the best luck charm ever. That’s all I need.” Pete leans across the console to kiss Patrick. He tastes like sunshine. Pure and full of dreams. Pete puts his hand on Patrick’s thigh, turns the radio up, and thinks _ I’m here at the beginning of the end, the end of infinity with you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’ve made it this far, thank you. this story would be nothing without my lovely friend and beta, nina. you can follow her on tumblr @sunflowerliam. 
> 
> i am immensely proud of this. it is my longest work to date. i hope you fell in love with the version of these two as much as i did in this universe.
> 
> i challenged myself by writing something out of my comfort zone and it was so rewarding. thank you for all your kudos and lovely feedback. i look forward to writing more for this fandom. i have a lot of stories to tell.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob. about this fic or fob in general. send me prompts! i love you all. bye!

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo and welcome to my new fic. in this universe patrick, gabe, mikey, ryan, and brendon are all sophomores. pete, frank, gerard, andy, and joe are all seniors. i apologize in advance for how angsty this fic is going to get. like, i'll tag everything as i go so i don't spoil it but i'll also put warnings at the tops of chapters that warrant it. read with caution. i don't wanna upset or trigger anybody. thank you for reading. comments and kudos make my day. come talk to me on tumblr @gothicpete.
> 
> fic title is from xo by fob of course. chapter title is from demolition lovers by mcr :)


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